I'm Your Villain
by Basscop69
Summary: New York, prohibition era. Chuck and Blair. 'They were dangerous folks, to be sure. But they had style'.
1. Chapter 1

There was a thunderstorm on the Upper East Side.

Rain pelted down on the glossy automobiles and rattling streetcars while lightning flashed around the dizzying heights of the grand buildings.

In the penthouse of one such building, the sound of laughter and bright lights drowned out all traces of the storm.

But that was in the parlour.

Upstairs, in a darkened bedroom where thick doors blocked out the lively classical music from below, the thunder sounded ready to crash through the windows at any moment. Or so it seemed to the two dark heads bent together on the matress, voices low even though there was no one there to hear them.

"I'm not scared," the girl insisted again, fiercely.

And she wasn't. Really. She just didn't like thunderstorms. They were big and out of reach, and she couldn't see them and she couldn't control them.

The boy loved them. He couldn't help but find something thrilling about that much uncontrolled power in the sky; and lying alone in his silent bedroom, the rumble of thunder tended to comfort him more than anything else.

There was a particularly large crash and a set of nails pressed, hard, into his palm. He glanced over at her, big brown eyes wide in the dark.

"It's just God moving the furniture," he informed her. And, as the room was briefly illuminated, the white of her nightgown brilliant; "And that's him trying to fix the lights."

She gave him a look for a moment - and then she couldn't help it, she was grinning. A slight giggle escaped before she could stifle it.

"Who told you that, Bass?"

He shrugged. He'd thought it was pretty funny at the time too. "My nanny."

"The loony religious one?"

"No," he smirked at the mention of said nanny. They'd soon got rid of her. "The old Irish one."

"I liked her," the girl reflected eventually, remembering. "She made the best gingerbread. Why didn't you keep her?"

The boy shrugged again, lifting his small shoulders. "Father sent her away." The he gave her another glance, leaning closer as his voice dropped to share a secret. "I heard them having a big row. She kept shouting and telling him I needed a family."

Her nose wrinkled along with his. "But you have a family."

They hadn't seen enough of the world yet to know that in normal families, parents actually spent time with their children.

He nodded in agreement, leaning even closer. "She told me that in Ireland, her family all ate together." And, as her eyes widened - "Every meal."

Well, that just made no sense. Everyone knew nannies were meant to feed children.

"I had supper with you today," she pointed out.

Another huge crash sent her hand reaching blindly for his; and this time, he gripped back.

"_You're_ my family," she said, firmly. Simply. And in that moment, as two young pairs of dark eyes locked, hands interlinked, it really was that simple.

* * *

><p>"Her."<p>

The club was dim and smoky, the flickering lights over the gyrating girls its only illumination. Low blues crooned from a corner; and in the centre, two men were sprawled over plush velvet sofas. Everything, from their slick suits to the expensive glasses of scotch and the hat tipped over the darker one's face, oozed rich arrogance. They were both handsome – both dangerous - and they both knew it.

The one who had just spoken was the fairer of the two, icy blue eyes currently resting on a girl by the bar. The other followed his gaze.

His eye roll followed soon after.

"Absolutely not."

They both watched as the girl stood there, conspicuously out of place in her high buttoned coat, hands clasped tightly and a look of displeasure on her face.

It had been a while, Chuck reflected – but Blair Waldorf hadn't changed. He wondered, idly, if she'd bloomed under that ridiculously concealing coat. Then again, what difference did it make? It wasn't like she'd ever let anyone see. Why did girls who wasted their potential like that even bother going out?

"Why?" Carter drawled. They watched her furious glare as she sidestepped an over-eager lech. If only looks could kill. "She's perfect. Old money, daddy's little princess," - her shudder was visible as her gaze swept over a half-naked dancer - "Pure as they come." Carter smirked. "You couldn't ask for a better bride to impress Bart."

Chuck snorted.

"I want my trust fund, Baizen. Not a prison sentence."

His friend shrugged. "She fits all the criteria."

Chuck's lips twitched, faintly, at the look of horror on Blair's face as someone else tried to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Her heel in his shin soon had the unfortunate man stumbling away.

"I said I wanted an easy target," he pointed out.

And at that, a gleam entered Carter's eye. "Are you saying you don't think you can do it?"

"Please." Chuck scowled. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" He glanced back at her; now she was attempting to snap something at the bartender, lips pinched. What was she even doing here? He bet he could guess. "I'd rather not waste my effort on a prize that isn't even worth it."

There was a brief silence, and Carter's eyes narrowed. "Two million dollars isn't worth it?"

There was a note of warning in his voice. Reminding him – as if Chuck needed reminding. Never in his life had he found himself _needing _money; he wasn't about to forget what it felt like now.

He gave Carter a filthy look, which the other man ignored. Of course.

"Besides," he went on. "Bart might find it a little more convincing if he sees you trying. If it's too easy, he'll know you're just doing it for the money."

Blair's lips were getting tighter and tighter as she got angrier and angrier with the bartender. Not that she would raise her voice, of course – not even in a place like this. She was far too well-trained.

"In fact, I'd say Blair Waldorf is the most believable option. Didn't the two of you used to be childhood sweethearts?"

His lip curled as he said it, and Chuck sneered back.

_(You're my family)_

Chuck Bass didn't do sweethearts.

"Childhood acquaintances," he corrected coldly.

"So your parents know each other." They both looked at her again; Carter's voice was smug. "She's perfect."

* * *

><p>"All I'm asking you to do," Blair seethed, "Is tell me if you've seen her or not. Is it <em>that <em>hard?"

Her night had gone from bad to worse. She'd walked into so many seedy clubs that her feet were killing her (not that she'd ever dream of removing her shoes) – not to mention the destruction this would cause her reputation if anyone saw her.

Luckily, the kind of people in these places were not the ones she associated with. But if she had to put up with one more creepy, repulsive, _slimy -_

"Let me guess. Golden girl has fallen off the wagon again?"

Her shoulders stiffened.

She turned, coldly, almost wishing she was facing one of those disgusting creeps now. Or at least, an unknown disgusting creep.

But she'd know that voice anywhere. And, as her eyes swept over his face, that smirk. Ugh. Chuck Bass the man was even worse than the boy.

"Just when I didn't think this place could get any worse."

His golden eyes were lazy under the shadow of his hat, clearly unaffected by her spite.

"Lovely to see you too."

"Sorry," she sneered. "I don't have time to catch up. Excuse me." She turned her back on him with the intention of berating the bartender once more; and then froze as she felt a hand grip her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

She yanked herself free, appalled.

"Let go of me, Bass!"

He seemed to find her indignation quite amusing. He ignored it, in any case, nodding over in the direction he'd just turned her.

"That's not what you're looking for, then?"

A beautifully dishevelled blonde was swaying in the opposite corner, a man on either side.

"Well," Chuck smirked as they both watched her. "At least someone knows how to have a good time." Blair shot him a glare of disgust. "Tell me," he enquired, "Why are you the one chasing after her yet again? Where's her fiance?"

"He's at the van der Bilt estate for the weekend," she snapped.

He repressed a snort. "What lives you lead."

But she didn't have any more time to waste on him; she was already heading over to the blonde, jaw set.

She managed to extract her best friend from the men's hold, despite being a head smaller than her, and was attempting to pull her out of the club when the drunken idiots realised what was happening.

"Hey, where are you going?" To her repulsion, one of them bent down into her face so that she was almost smothered by the scent of alcohol on his breath. "The party's just starting!"

She tried to get past them, but it was almost impossible with Serena's weight on her as well; and now one of them was reaching for her waist and she couldn't get away.

Tomorrow morning, she was going to kill Serena.

Her grit her teeth. "Get – off-"

"Gentlemen," a drawl sounded from behind her. "Thank you for looking after my girls. I wondered where they'd got to."

Blair turned in outrage, but Chuck had already taken hold of her waist - harder and tighter than the other men's attempts - his other arm looping around Serena's as he steered them away from the drunkards.

He couldn't help but notice, however stiff she was in his hold, that she did have a nice little waist, its curve fitting softly into the crook of his arm. And she was deliciously hot against him.

Once they were clear, she yanked herself away once more, grabbing Serena too.

"You're welcome," he informed her drily, enjoying the hot flush of pink on her white cheeks.

"Yes," she sneered back. "Thank you for molesting me." She'd already regained her composure, face pale once more.

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "You really do have no idea what molesting is, do you?" He took a step towards her, leaning in to make her feel trapped; "I'd be happy to show you."

He caught the rise of her throat as she swallowed, the sweep of her eyelashes -

"Oh, Chuck..."

And then extreme pain, as her heel made contact with the second shin of the night. Her eyes flashed, cold.

"Don't ever touch me again."

She took hold of Serena and marched her out without a backwards glance.

Chuck gazed after her, his shin still throbbing as Carter emerged from the shadows to appear at his side.

"So?"

Chuck's eyes narrowed, dark in the dim light. "All right." The two men watched the club door swing shut. "Her."

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Ok, I know I really really shouldn't be starting a new fic when I have...not just one, but TWO, unfinished fics, but...I was watching 3x07 again and this idea wouldn't leave me, so I figured I should get it written down fast! For anyone interested, I promise promise I will be finishing 'The Darkest Though You Ever Had' and 'Homecoming'. I haven't forgotten them!**

**And in the meantime...pretty please review this one if there's any interest? :) **


	2. Chapter 2

The afternoon was late, sun streaming into an elegantly furnished sitting room and onto a head of glossy brown hair. Blair sighed as she flicked through another sheaf of insipid love letters from various men. She wouldn't even call them potential beaus.

_Doll - how about dinner some time, just you and me? _

She scoffed aloud, discarding the sheet onto a heap of others and taking another sip of iced tea. Actually, perhaps love letters was going a bit far.

It was safe to say that none of these clowns had a way with words. Not that eloquence was what she was looking for anyway. Or at least - it wasn't a necessity. No; she had a far more pressing reason for encouraging their pursuits. She was looking for something else entirely.

She wasn't Serena, who'd used to play with men without even reaslising she was doing it. If Blair showed the slightest sign of interest in anyone, then it was for a reason. And not a romantic one.

The days of her childhood fantasies - the yearning, all those ridiculous novels and heriones she'd once longed to be - were a luxury she could no longer afford.

"Blair."

Blair jumped to her feet at her mother's voice, smoothly covering her shock at seeing Eleanor home. For all intents and purposes, the Waldorf matriarch lived in the Upper East Side penthouse too – but most of her time was spent in Paris. In Paris, Blair knew, but not with her disgraced father as the tabloids believed.

"Sit down," Eleanor sighed impatiently, barely sparing her daughter a glance. "I have bad news."

"Is daddy ok?" Blair couldn't help it, the slight rise in her voice – and she could have kicked herself for sounding like such a stupid little girl. For sounding like she actually cared.

Eleanor seemed to share that thought. "I have no idea," she snapped. "Our solicitor hasn't been in touch, so I assume he hasn't done us all the favour of dropping dead in a gutter." Her gaze swept the girl for a second - as though daring her to react - and Blair kept her spine straight and her face blank even as a buried part of her longed to curl away from her mother's harsh eyes. "I see someone's been indulging herself while I was away." Her tone was crisp as her eyes lingered pointedly on Blair's waist; Blair was silent.

"Well," she went on grimly, "You won't be able to do that for much longer."

Blair swallowed. "The Chanel deal fell through?"

"It did." Eleanor was flat. "Which means we have no way of repaying your father's debts." And somehow even the way she said that sounded like it was Blair's fault. "So it's up to you now." She fixed her daughter with a look.

Blair knew what the look meant.

"Gabriel Westington took me out to dinner last night-" she began. Eleanor's eyes had already narrowed in displeasure.

"Gabriel Westington? We're over a million dollars in debt, and you think marrying a _Westington_ is going to solve that?" She shook her head, disbelieving. "Don't worry, I didn't think you'd be capable of picking for yourself. I've already decided for you."

Blair glanced up.

"Nate Archibald." She ignored her daughter's stare; "And not just for the van der Bilt money – the Captain is set to close one of the biggest deals of the century. We couldn't ask for a better match. He's perfect."

This time, Blair honestly couldn't believe her mother. "He's also engaged to Serena."

"Engaged," Eleanor breezed. "Not married."

She was being serious, Blair realised. She actually thought -

"Nate loves Serena," she said coolly. "She's the only one he wants."

Eleanor sighed as she looked at her daughter. "You may not be as beautiful as Serena, but I did raise you with something she doesn't have. Brains." Her sharp fingernails caught Blair's chin, tilting her head up. "Men are stupid and easily led. Especially Archibald men." She snorted, slightly; "How else do you think someone as plain as Anne ended up with Howard?" And still she didn't let go of Blair's chin, and Blair kept her head perfectly still. "I can assure you it won't pose too much of a challenge to change his mind."

Blair already knew that pointing out Serena was supposed to be her friend would earn her a laugh, at best. Which meant that she'd just have to fail -

Eleanor's eyes gleamed, suddenly, as though reading her daughter's thoughts. "I'm sure I don't have to remind you what's at stake here. Or do you want to lose all of this?" She arched an eyebrow as she glanced round the luxurious apartment, Blair's pearl-encrusted dress. "Spend your life living penniless in Brooklyn? At least you know that Humphrey boy will have you. Is that what you want, a life married to someone like _him_?" That stung – it wasn't like Blair had _encouraged_ Humphrey's ridiculous attempts, for God's sake, and still Eleanor blamed her – but it was the next point that really cut. "Visiting your father in jail for the next thirty years?"

Blair pulled herself upright. "Of course not," she answered icily. She removed herself from her mother's grip. "Consider it done."

"Good."

Eleanor swept out, dismissing her.

It was only once she'd gone that Blair allowed her eyes to close as she sank back into her chair.

Just when she'd thought things couldn't get any worse.

* * *

><p>Chuck sighed as he leaned back in his leather chair, gazing between hooded eyes at the sharp cut of the scotch glass in his hand. He ran a lazy finger over his silk tie, signet ring gleaming in the dim light of the study. He kept the blinds shuttered deliberately - he was partial to the intimidation it created.<p>

The awkward sound of a throat clearing broke the silence.

Slowly, his eyes flickered to the pathetic specimen on the other side of his mahogany desk. It was the hair, he decided. What self-respecting man allowed a mop like that to grow untamed? Or perhaps it was the suit. Actually, calling it a suit was step too far. The patches on the elbows of the jacket hurt his eyes.

"Mr...?"

"Humphrey," the other man filled in, jerkily, even though he'd told Chuck his name not five minutes ago. "Daniel Humphrey."

"Daniel Humphrey," Chuck repeated - and somehow even that sounded like an insult. He let out another sigh, spreading his hands on the desk. "So, tell me. Why should I lend you a hundred dollars?"

The other man opened his mouth to answer, but Chuck didn't let him get that far.

"I think it's fairly obvious you don't have the means to pay it back any time soon."

"I-" Humphrey floundered. "I need it."

"It's a pretty obscene amount," Chuck drawled, "For someone like you. What could you possibly need it for?" And, as his gaze rested on that _hair _once again; "I'm sure you could find a barber willing to touch you for less."

"Wh-?" Dan's face furrowed for a second, blinking as he registered the insult and his hand moved, defensively, to his curls - "No. That's not - I want to buy a ring."

Chuck arched one eyebrow. Well, this got more amusing by the second. "A ring, Humphrey?"

"A diamond ring," he said firmly. His eyes narrowed. "I'm going to ask the girl I love to marry me." He looked like he was squaring up for a fight just saying it.

"How quaint," Chuck drawled. "You're in love. And so insecure in the girl's affections that you need to bribe her with baubles?"

The poorer man bristled visibly. "No. I'd never try to buy someone."

Chuck seemed a little surprised, as though this was something he couldn't wrap his head around. "Why not?" Then, dismissing it, "You mean you never _could _buy someone. You lack the funds. But - back to the point. Get your girl a knock-off. I doubt she'll notice the difference."

If she was someone this man associated with, Chuck was sure she wouldn't.

But Humphrey was shaking his head. "Trust me," he muttered miserably. "She would."

Since Chuck had no interest in the cliche of Humphrey's pathetic pining for a girl clearly out his league (and since he doubted a diamond ring would change any of that, and couldn't be bothered to tell the fool as much), he returned to the only thing he actually cared about.

"And what would you be willing to do for me in return?"

Dan swallowed. "I-"

Chuck regarded him expectantly, head tilted.

"I was hoping," the man fumbled, "That we could come to some kind of agreement."

"Like what?"

"Like - maybe you need someone to work in your establishment-"

"I don't."

"Or maybe a driver-"

"No."

Dan swallowed again. "A doorman?"

Chuck let out an actual laugh, at that. Humphrey's head sank along with his heart. He'd known this was a bad idea. It had taken him long enough to talk himself into going anywhere near someone like Chuck Bass in the first place -

"I do have something you can do for me, Humphrey." Chuck watched him, intent. "The question is - can you be trusted?"

Dan nodded fervently. "Yes. Absolutely."

"To do anything I ask, without questions?"

Dan paused. He knew what he was being asked. Dan Humphrey had never done anything illegal in his life. Was he really willing to go that far?

And he wasn't stupid. He knew that making any kind of deal with someone like Chuck Bass wouldn't be short-lived. Or easy. Or safe. If he did one thing, it would only lead to others.

He was silent while Chuck waited.

And then he remembered the feeling as he'd stood in that foyer, accutely aware of his scuffed shoes on the polished marble; remembered the scorn on the woman's face as she'd assumed he was a waiter -

"Yes."

Slowly, the corner of Chuck's mouth curled upwards. It wasn't a smile, Dan thought with a slight shudder - or at least, there was no trace of it in those hard onyx eyes - but something closer to a sneer of satisfaction.

"Good." His movements were langurous as he counted out more notes than Dan had ever seen in his life, pushed them into an envelope and dropped it in front of him.

And Humphrey - so gauche - had eyes the size of saucers despite himself.

"Nine o'clock, tonight. Go to the back door. My...associate will be waiting for you with a package. He'll tell you what to do."

Dan tried to keep his legs steady as he climbed to his feet and shoved the envelope into his jacket.

"Good luck buying your ring," Chuck added with an unpleasant smirk.

He predicted that the unwanted diamond would be in the gutter by the end of the week.

Poor girl.

* * *

><p>Blair surveyed her reflection in the floor-length mirror. Her curls were tight and immaculate, her eyes flawlessly framed in kohl and her lips a deep, rich red.<p>

She smoothed her dress over the plane of her stomach, satisfied. The dress was the right one for tonight. The beaded cream silk sat perfectly on her pale skin, deceptively simple and modestly cut. Purity was what she needed to embody tonight.

Serena was still feeling guilty about her actions the other night (though Blair doubted she remembered most of them) and had already made her excuses for the Archibald soiree. Much to Nate's disappointment, Blair was sure.

She wasn't stupid enough to think she would win Nate by seduction alone - not when it was Serena she was competing with - so she needed to extol the opposite. She was honest, faithful and virtuous; everything Serena wasn't. Everything Nate needed. Or would need.

But it didn't hurt to remind him she could be attractive too, which was why she'd selected red lipstick.

Of course, in all probability, Nate wouldn't even notice what she was wearing. Blair had her doubts he even saw her as a girl anymore.

But Eleanor _would_ notice.

Blair might have assumed her mother was simply out of the loop and had picked the nearest eligible (and by eligible, she meant rich) bachelor (or almost bachelor) she knew - and who better than Nate, a friend since childhood? But Blair knew Eleanor better than that.

There was a reason she'd picked Nate.

Most likely it was something to do with whatever deal the Captain was closing. And most likely, the deal was one that would benefit Eleanor and Eleanor alone.

Blair had no intention of letting that happen. Her mother may have disowned Harold, but she sure as hell hadn't. And she wasn't about to ruin her ordered life - and risk losing Serena - by stealing a fiance she didn't even want.

So she would keep Eleanor off her back by appearing to go along with the plan; and without her mother's interference, she'd find a better fiance. A richer one. She already had her sights set on the Prince that would be arriving next week. And once she had the money, she'd pay the debt herself and she'd be free from Eleanor once and for all.

* * *

><p>"Where are you off to?" Carter enquired as he took in his friend's white tuxedo.<p>

Chuck just smirked, eyes on his reflection as he slicked his hair back, cocking his head to see the effect. Perfect.

"It seems Nathaniel is holding a soiree tonight," he drawled, adjusting his cufflinks. The other boy's name was an exaggerated sneer on his lips.

Carter grinned faintly. "Sounds like the place to pick up a virgin queen."

The brunette raised a brow in agreement.

"How are you planning on getting in?"

Chuck's mouth quirked darkly as he held out his hands. "I'm Bart Bass's son, aren't I?"

And Carter laughed. Because apart from the gleam in his eyes, Chuck really did look the part. The combed hair, the tux - a perfect gentleman.

Chuck's smile was bitter as he strode out of the door.

"Save me a scotch," he called over his shoulder; it wasn't like these events ran to any decent hour. And he'd need a drink by then. "I'll probably be done by ten."

* * *

><p>"Nate."<p>

Blair smiled warmly at him, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek; and just for Eleanor, she let his hands linger briefly on her waist, her fingers trailing his arm.

"I'm sorry Serena couldn't be here."

Nate's blue eyes creased, as expected. He glanced round for a second and then lowered his voice.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about-"

"Is that Penelope?" Blair fixed a bright smile on her face, turning away from him. "Excuse me." She flashed him another smile over her shoulder as she made her escape. "I'll be back in a moment."

Preferably when they were surrounded by people and he couldn't ask her any more about her wayward friend. Sometimes covering for her really was tiring.

She busied herself with air kisses and false cries of delight for the next few minutes, always smiling as she shook hands and kept one eye on her reflection in the Archibald's gilded mirrors.

_What lives you lead. _

Her smile darkened for a second as the snide comment slipped into her head, seemingly out of nowhere. She sent it away and readjusted her smile. What sort of life did she lead? One that was far better than the alternative. That much she knew for sure.

She was safe here - safe in pearls and handshakes and tinkling laughter, tastefully played classical music and crystal chandeliers.

Eventually she decided it was time to head back to Nate; there were plenty of guests around him now. All she had to do was position herself next to him and let him get her drinks all evening -

"And now I see what I've been missing out on all these years."

This time the snide voice wasn't in her head.

She turned, very slowly, lips already tightening. She regarded the man before her with a mixture of digust and incredulity. She might have been jolted - just for a second - by his good boy attire, but those eyes of his reminded her exactly who he was.

"How on earth did _you_ get in?"

His smirk was far too familiar for her liking. "Well now, the captain was delighted to see me. He's fetching me a drink as we speak." He made no effort to hide the way his gaze trailed her figure, lingering on her collar bone and right up to her lips. "Red, Waldorf? How daring."

He enjoyed the fullness of those lips as they curled at him.

"Don't you have a hole to crawl back into?"

He just smiled back, his gaze lazy. "Why? Are you offering to accompany me?"

She scoffed in repulsion.

"So," he went on conversationally as he moved closer into her personal space. She stepped away and he stepped closer, deliberate. "Which poor boy are you teasing tonight?" Because that kind of lipstick was designed to be kissed off - to stain someone's shirt - and he had no doubt she intended on letting it go to waste. Like always.

But they were interupted before she had a chance to spit a comeback.

"Chuck Bass?"

Chuck glanced at the man now standing before him.

Nathaniel Archibald in all his golden glory. Perfectly parted golden hair, perfect suit his mother had probably picked for him. Nate's gaze was wary in return; he didn't even realise he'd stepped between Chuck and Blair and had moved instinctively to block him from her.

Ever the knight in shining armour.

"What are you doing here?"

The question was more politely phrased than Blair's, but his simple blue eyes were still full of distrust.

Chuck bared his teeth rather than smiled back. "I thought I'd come catch up. It's been a while."

"It has," Nate agreed cautiously.

Chuck didn't know why the way he was standing in front of Blair irritated him so much; but he couldn't quite keep the sneer off his face.

"I hear congratualtions are in order. Where is the blushing bride to be?" Blair stiffened, almost imperceptible, and he knew exactly what he was doing as he ignored the warning written all over her face. "Don't tell me she had a better offer tonight?"

Nate's gaze narrowed as he picked up on the tone he couldn't quite understand.

"Thank you," he remembered. Ever polite. "Serena wasn't feeling well tonight."

"Well," Chuck purred as his eyes slide, mercilessly, to Blair. "I wonder why that could be?"

"Intuition, perhaps," Blair interceded. Her gaze back might have frozen anyone else. "Maybe something told her you'd be here tonight."

Nate blinked a little, but he smiled before he could stop it.

Blair took the opportunity to slide her arm into his, giving Chuck a final look that quite clearly said _go away_.

"Nate, you must introduce me to your cousin. I had no idea she was in town." She was already steering him to the other side of the room; Nate glanced at Chuck once more.

"It was good to see you."

He said it like he was the one dismissing him, and Chuck rolled his eyes. As if Blair hadn't just done that. He lifted a glass of something from a passing waiter, drawing it to his lips as he watched them go. (And then pulled a face. He really could have used some champage right now. Not whatever this sweet crap was).

It seemed he'd have to try a different approach. And in the mean time, he wasn't letting Blair out of his sight for a second.

* * *

><p>Patience paid off, as always.<p>

She'd spent the entire night - every dull second of it - surrounded by guests and enswathed in polite conversation. He knew damn well she knew he was tracking her, but she kept up the pretence of acting like he didn't exist. He'd expected nothing less.

And he could tell she was irritated that he was there. Which pleased him.

In the end he'd decided to sneak out onto the balcony. Sure enough, she'd slipped out several minutes later, clearly thinking he'd got bored and gone home.

He was hidden in shadows, now, as he watched her lean against the railings. The iron had to be cold beneath her bare forearms, he mused - the only exposed skin on her whole body. It was almost silvery in the darkness, her lips fuller as she pursed her mouth, hair glinting midnight.

She should have been the picture of innocence, pressed against the balcony all in white - but he just found himself wondering what that hair would look like spread against his pillow.

He slunk closer, on the verge of stepping out - and looking forward to her reaction - when someone swept out before he could.

"Georgina," Blair sighed. "What?"

They might have been sisters - the other girl's hair was even darker, her skin even paler, and her eyes glittering blue - but she was just as beautifully dressed, in black rather than white; and her curls were as perfect and her gaze as calculating.

(And yet, Chuck reflected, there was something. Something that made her nothing like Blair).

"Come on," Georgina smiled, giving the smaller girl a faint nudge. They stood, shoulder to shoulder. "We're out of earshot now. You can tell me why you were flirting with Nate all night."

Chuck had been right, then. Archibald was the poor boy she'd been teasing.

"I was doing nothing of the sort."

Georgina snickered. "Please. He might not have noticed, but I did." She glanced at Blair. "I thought you wanted Nate and Serena together?"

"I do," Blair snapped back.

"So?"

She rolled her eyes. "_So_, apparently my mother's taken a shine to him."

Georgina laughed again. "You are joking?"

A brief silence fell.

Eventually, Georgina shook her head.

"Well. This should be fun."

Blair smirked bitterly, unaware that she was thinking the same thing Chuck was. That fun was not exactly the word she would have used.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews; I'm so pleased there's so many people interested in this fic :) I know, not much CB interaction in this chapter...it's coming!**


	3. Chapter 3

_A boy stands by the side of a pond, skimming stones. He sends them skipping out over the still water, and still they don't go far enough. Don't jump high enough, don't stretch wide enough; not enough. None of it's enough. And he doesn't even like skipping stones anyway. He hurls a large one stright into the centre just to disrupt the stillness, and there is a momentary kick of satisfaction as the reflected grey sky shatters. Shatters and cracks into the blackness of the water; and then all is still again. _

_He picks up an even bigger stone, and swings his arm back to throw it even harder; and then something distracts him and it spins out of his grip, uncontrollable, and he knows with inevitable certainty that it's going to hit the girl on the other side of the water. And he realises he doesn't want it to - he can only watch, transfixed, as it strikes the side of her face. _

_Her blood is vivid against her pale skin, but she doesn't cry. _

_Just looks at him. _

_Her eyes are wide and brown, and they stare at each other until he realises that it's the boy with bright stain of blood and not the girl. _

_And she's at his side, and he knows that if she lays her hand on the wound it will be warm; but she doesn't. Her hand sits on her lap instead, and he knows how those pale white fingers will feel entwined in his. He looks at her wide brown eyes and he knows that he knows them. And he knows she knows him. _

_And her face is so serious, just like his, as she leans forward so that he can almost catch the scent of her hair; and he knows, just like he knew the stone would hit her, that she is going to kiss him and her lips will be soft and warm - _

Chuck woke to the door closing with a snap; his latest conquest was on her way out. Well, at least it saved him having to throw her out come morning.

He lay back on his silk sheets, gazing up at the pattern on his ceiling as his drowsy mind tried to recapture whatever it was he'd just been dreaming about. He was sure it had been a good dream.

But try as he might, he couldn't get it back.

He finally climbed to his feet with a faint growl of irritation. No point trying to fall asleep again now; shaking the last remanants of sleep away, he got ready to face another day.

Stupid dream.

* * *

><p>"More peonies?"<p>

Georgina tossed aside the bouquet as she dropped down onto Blair's chaise longue, folding her stockinged legs over each other.

"And no card?" she added. "Again?" She looked deeply amused; Blair simply scowled.

She was still draped in a sheer dressing gown, hair loose as she seated herself on the high-backed armchair like a reigning monarch.

She scowled because she knew damn well who they were from.

No one knew her favourite flowers. No one, except - except the only person arrogant and irritating enough to keep sending her bouquets without even bothering to write a card. It had been so long ago, how the hell had he even remembered? And how did _he_ know her taste hadn't changed since she was eight? Presumptious bastard.

She didn't know what stupid game he was playing now (didn't want to know, either); and she didn't really want to wonder why, after over ten years of no contact, he'd suddenly decided she existed again. God knows she'd been more than happy pretending he didn't exist.

Had he worked out that she was the only person on the Upper East Side he hadn't slept with yet?

Well, she didn't have time for his games. She plucked this next bouquet away from Georgina and dropped it, just like all the others, into the waste disposal.

"Maybe they're from Nate." Georgina sent her a sly glance.

Blair was too busy ripping up a hopeful letter from Gabriel Westington - dinner again? Seriously? Eleanor was right about one thing; no more wasting her time on the Westingtons of the world - to bother responding.

"You know," Georgina went on. "Rumour has it Serena went home with _three _different men last night. I'm sure if Nate got hold of that rumour..."

"Drop it," Blair snapped. (She'd made quite sure Serena hadn't gone home with three different men last night.)

Georgie rolled her eyes in response. "You used to be able to take a joke." Her gaze flickered over a few of Blair's letters. "Searching for a husband really has made you dull."

The other brunette's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, dangerous.

Georgina ignored her.

"Dear Blair," she mimicked, lifting one of the papers. "I think you're real swell-" she burst into a peal of laughter. "Is this guy for real?" She flicked the paper away from her long red nails and to the ground. "At least if you were going after Nate you'd be something like the Blair I used to know."

"What?" Blair said, icily. "The fool who was so convinced she loved him, she couldn't even see that he was in love with her best friend? Oddly enough," she spat. "I'm glad I've come to my senses since then."

"At least that Blair wanted revenge," Georgina was quite cool. "_That_ Blair was going to destory Serena, remember?"

Blair stopped pretending to read the letters. She fixed Georgie with a slow look instead. "I told you I forgave Serena. We're past that, Goergina. It's over."

"Fine," Georgie snorted. "But taking Nate now _would_ solve all your problems. And you know it."

"It would solve nothing," Blair seethed back. "And if the only reason you came over here is to stir up trouble, then you can leave. Because I don't have time for this."

Georgie stretched her pale arms over her head. She had no intention of going anywhere. "You used to love stirring up trouble," she pointed out.

"For other people," Blair growled. "Not for myself." She let out a little sigh, composing herself once more. "Now. Can we get back to the matter in hand? Maria Grimaldi. She's on the verge of becoming betrothed to Prince Louis - I can't let that happen. She needs to be destroyed."

"Advantages?" Georgina enquired.

"She's his cousin. So she has royal blood and the family know her. She's reasonably good looking, and knows how to dress."

"Disadvantages?"

"Her nose," Blair decided. She smirked, faintly. "And the rumours of her affair with a lowly servant."

Georgina grinned back. She had a feeling she knew who had started those rumours. "So all they need are a bit of fanning..."

"And she'll be out of the picture," Blair conceded. "Leaving me with a clear shot at the Prince."

"I'll get in touch with a few people," Georgie assured her. "Her reputation will be in tatters by the time I'm done."

"And in return, I'll get that slut Penelope blacklisted from anywhere respectable."

Georgie's eyes slanted in satisfaction. That slut Penelope had tried to steal the latest object of her affections one time too many. She needed to be taught a lesson.

"Perfect," she purred. "I do love the sweet scent of vengeance..." She paused, glancing to the waste disposal with a cocked eyebrow. "Or is that just the peonies?"

Blair glared. Mainly because she'd just caught herself enjoying their familiar fragrance too. "Dorota," she barked, seizing the bell on the table next to her. "Dorota! This room needs cleaning. Now!"

Georgina smiled wickedly. "So you do know who they're from, then?"

Just when Blair had been hoping the subject was changed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she grumbled at last.

Georgie looked intrigued.

"Chuck Bass," the other girl sighed. She said his name like a curse - and Georgina's face darkened instantly.

Blair wasn't sure why Georgie had always hated him so much. She assumed he must have slept with and then discarded her, like he did every girl - and Georgina Sparks did not forgive treatment like that.

"Why is he sending you flowers?" she demanded.

"Who knows?" Blair pulled a face. "And who cares? If he wants to waste his money, let him."

"You should be careful," Georgina warned.

Blair went to roll her eyes again - like she needed warning - then paused as she saw the look on the other girl's face. It wasn't mocking this time; there was something dark there.

"Please," she snorted. "As if I plan on letting him within five feet of me."

This seemed to appease her friend, if only a little. There was still a glitter in her eyes. "He's a creep, B. Remember that. Remember what he was like when we were little? All those times he pulled your hair and lifted up your skirt - when he ruined your embroidery and made you burn your cupcakes, all those times he got you into trouble - when he pushed you off that slide and _laughed_?"

(When he held her hand and told her she was the only girl he'd ever like; when he ate every bite of the repulsive birthday cake she tried to make for him; when he helped her take down the Charleston twins; when he was her best friend-)

She stopped that thought process, abruptly. This was not the time for a trip down memory lane. And those memories were before _Carter Baizen_ became his best friend.

Before Blair grew out of him.

"I don't need to remember," she retorted crisply. "I can see for myself that he's just as vile now."

"Why, thank you."

Both girls' reaction was instant - Chuck, however, didn't bother to take in the look of hatred that had entered Georgina's eyes, or the way she'd leapt between them; he was too focused on the stiffening of Blair's spine and thinning of her lips.

They both turned on him, furious.

"How the hell did you get in here?"

Dorota appeared, looking quite flustered, as the answer. "Miss Blair-"

"This is where you've been?" Blair snapped at her. "Letting in vermin like _him _instead of cleaning the room like I asked you to?"

(When what she was really angry about was the fact that Chuck Bass had now snuck up on her _twice. _Was she off her game, or something?)

The maid snatched up her duster, a look of irritation crossing her face. "You never say Mr. Chuck not allowed in. When you were little girl-"

"Do I look," Blair cried, outraged - and Chuck rather enjoyed the way her eyes flashed - "Like a little girl?" She stamped her foot. (Not a great way to prove her point, Chuck reflected). Dorota clearly shared that thought, so Blair hissed at her to go polish something.

The maid left, rolling her eyes and muttering in Polish.

Blair turned her murderous gaze back to Chuck. "What are you doing here?"

He was quite unaffected. "I'm here to ask you to dinner. Obviously. Or were the flowers not a clear enough message? Maybe you're not as quick as you used to be, Waldorf."

She hated the way he said her name, she decided irrationally. It was too - familiar. Everything about him was too familiar, and it shouldn't have been. It was dangerous to even think that way; because he _wasn't_ familiar. Not really. There might have been traces - a faint resemblance - to the boy she'd once known.

But she didn't know him. Not anymore.

More importantly, she didn't _want_ to know him.

"I'd say the same for you," she responded sweetly, "Since you obviously haven't got the message that I'm not _interested_ - except we both know you were never that quick, don't we?"

He simply smirked back. He seemed to remember that he'd been quick enough when he was helping her with her many schemes.

"You're not wanted here," Georgina interjected. Her voice was silky, but her blue eyes gleamed quite cold. "I suggest you leave."

Chuck ignored her. "So I'll pick you up at seven tonight." It wasn't even a _question__, _Blair noted with fury. "Wear something...revealing. I don't want to see another one of your pilgrim frocks." He moved deliberately over her dressing grown, and Blair suddenly wished she was wearing her velvet one. "I'd even take what you're wearing now," he murmured as his lips curved upwards.

Blair wrapped her arms around herself, tight, and sent him a look in return of absolute loathing.

"Get. out. of my apartment."

Georgina, however, was already moving to call the doorman.

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "You're saying you don't want dinner?"

"Oh look," Blair sneered. "It's getting quicker."

"So...you want to skip straight to the sex, then?"

* * *

><p>Carter threw back his head and laughed.<p>

"You've been banned from the building?" He took another gulp of scotch, still chuckling. "Well, that's impressive even for you."

"Hilarious," Chuck agreed drily. "But it means that the only way I can get at her now is through those events I've spent the past several years trying to avoid." He pulled a face as he remembered. "The Archibald one was bad enough."

"How is Archibald, by the way?" Carter enquired. He didn't bother waiting for an answer - he didn't actually care. "Good old Nate the great. I can't believe Blair's still chasing after him," he added in a drawl.

But Chuck didn't miss the look he'd sent him.

"I told you," he returned flatly. "It's her mother. I don't think she wants him."

"Are you sure about that?"

Chuck didn't answer. Not because the answer was no - which it was - but because he didn't like how violently the idea of Blair still wanting Nate disagreed with him. (Still disagreed with him. He should be over it by now).

Why did he care what fool Blair picked for her unfortunate husband?

If he had his way, she wouldn't be getting whoever it was in any case.

It was of no concern to him if she was stupid enough to still be pining after the same fool. If she still wanted the golden boy who got eveyrthing anyway - then more fool her. It sounded just like the Blair Waldorf he'd known. She never had worked out how to let go.

"So she didn't accept your dinner invitation?" Carter asked, innocent.

And at that, a dark smile crossed Chuck's face. "Oh, she'll be having dinner with me tonight." He dropped his empty glass down onto the bar, gaze flickering to the door. "I happen to have connections to Vanya, one of Miss van der Woodsen's doormen. Vanya is engaged to Dorota - and about an hour ago, he tipped his sweet love off as to the whereabouts of his mistress. Who then told her mistress-"

The door swung open, and a dark head stormed into the bar in yet another high-buttoned coat. How many did she have? Chuck wondered idly.

"You'd better be wearing nothing underneath that," he called out to her, climbing to his feet. "I thought I specified something revealing?"

"Where is she?" Blair demanded.

"You're going to have to be a little more specific," Chuck sighed. "I know many...shes."

"Do I look like I'm playing, Bass?" she growled. "Tell me where Serena is. Now."

Chuck just spread his hands. "I have no idea." He addressed the empty room. "Do you see her?"

Blair ignored Carter's snicker - she didn't even look at him - as her gaze zeroed in on Chuck, hands clenched at her sides.

"You fillthy, lying-"

"Now now, princess," Chuck smirked. "I don't think whatever you're about to say is very becoming for a lady." There was a wicked gleam in his eye. "What would Eleanor say?" He turned to the bar before she could answer. "Now, what are you drinking?"

"You're going to pay for this." She turned on her heel and marched away - and she got as far as the door before a blinding flash made her stop.

"Thank you, Henry." Chuck's smug voice drifed past her ear.

She turned, very slowly.

A photographer stood behind her, in the middle of adjusting his camera to take another shot.

She reached out, appalled, to snatch the apparatus away (or break it); but Chuck got there first. He smirked down at her, blocking her way to the photographer as the greasy man slid out.

"Blair Waldorf," he sighed. "Spotted leaving Gimlet...without even a chaperone. I wonder how much the Guardian would pay for a shot like that?"

"You wouldn't dare," she hissed between ground teeth.

He simply laughed, as though the idea that Chuck Bass wouldn't dare anything was absurd. Blair didn't think she'd ever hated him more.

"Now," he smiled, almost affectionately, and chucked her chin. "I believe we had dinner plans."

She flinched, visibly, at the heat of fingers - and he found himself annoyed. Annoyed at what? At her, for being such a prude? (Or at himself, for making _her _react like that?)

He dismissed the thought.

But perhaps it was the annoyance that made him order, next, "Take off your coat."

Her fingers tightened around the material, eyes slanting. She was dimly aware of Carter watching in silence; but she focused all of her dislike on the hazel eyes in front of her.

"No."

"Take it off." Chuck couldn't stop himself - couldn't stop the sudden hard challenge that had entered his voice. He didn't even know what he was trying to prove. (That she was just another girl who would do exactly as he commanded? That being Blair Waldorf didn't make her different?) All he knew was that he couldn't stop himself now. "I said take it off. Or that photograph will be in every gossip column in Manhattan."

She lifted her chin. The threat should have made her stop, but the challenge in his voice was having the opposite effect. She was already responding, instinctive. "Go on then," she snorted. "I'd prefer to deal with a shattered reputation than five more minutes in your company." She gave him a look of sheer disdain. "Do your worst."

He took a step closer, trying to force her to back down with his presence alone. And though her hairs prickled at at his closeness, she didn't budge. His eyes were almost black as he stared down at her. "Don't tempt me," he warned, very quietly.

She went to roll her eyes - so he caught her chin, stopping her, with just one finger this time.

She yanked herself away; and his lip curled.

"You're never going to change," he sneered, "Are you?" He didn't know why he was doing this - twisting the knife in as deeply as it would go. Pushing her to see if she'd snap. "Do you enjoy it? Being such a cold, frigid little bitch - too scared to even let anyone touch you?" Still her pale face was blank with dislike, so he pushed harder. "No wonder Nate picked Serena over you."

"Chuck." It was Carter's voice, sharp, that snapped him out of it.

Blair was white. "Nate's a boy," she informed him evenly, eventually. "There are plenty of those in the world. But you know what, Chuck? You only get one father. And at least mine didn't pick an _intern_ over me." Chuck didn't react; but she saw it - the shadow at the mention of his father. Just like she'd known. Chuck Bass was still Chuck Bass. "Is that why you sleep with all those girls?" Her voice curled with derision. "Does having someone in your bed every night make you feel better? So you can tell yourself at least _someone_ wants to spend time with you? Even if," she pressed, "You do have to pay them for the hour?" Her gaze ran along the bar, distaste in every line of her face. "Does this place fill the hole of knowing you'll never inherit Bass Industries? I mean, playing a business man must make you feel so_ important_."

His eyes moved slowly over her.

"You know what? You're not worth the effort."

He turned his back on her; and even though Blair's legs were shaking for some unknown reason, her own lips curled in satisfaction.

"Goodbye, Chuck."

He didn't turn around to watch her go; and he grabbed the scotch bottle the second he heard the door slam shut.

Carter just looked at him.

"Is that your idea of wooing, Bass?"

"Shut up," he snarled. He took a mouthful straight from the bottle, feeling it burn his throat as it slid down. Bitch. She was a _bitch. _"I mean it. I'm out." He swallowed more of the hard liquor, ignoring his best friend's gaze. "Not even two million is worth this. I'll find myself someone else."

Carter just shook his head.


	4. Chapter 4

Chuck smiled as he posed with another snivelling child, praying to God that the little brat didn't cough up anything on his suit.

He could see the headlines already.

_Chuck Bass - reformed. _

He tried not to grimace at how repugnant the mere idea was. Eva had to believe that this really was him, after all. (Eva? Elsie? He was sure it was Eva).

She was smiling adoringly up at him now, whatever her name was.

The fact that she didn't speak much English had made it much easier to lie to her. It also meant that she hadn't read most of the stories about him.

She was perfect, really; she even looked like an angel, all golden hair and wide blue eyes. He was sure she didn't have a bad thought in that pretty little head of hers. Or an intelligent one, probably, but that was besides the point.

He was sure she'd be enough to convince Bart.

Everything was falling into place.

* * *

><p>"I couldn't agree more," Blair laughed. "What is the point of spending hundreds of dollars on a dress," (she thought with some satisfaction of the gorgeous blue Lanvin currently hanging in her wardrobe), "For these so-called 'charity' events? If people really want to help, they should be in Africa with the poor children. Not squandering money on parties."<p>

"Exactly," Louis nodded, enthusiastically, and Blair managed to repress a groan. Why couldn't princes be more like the ones in fairytales? Seriously - what the hell was a 'people's prince'? The term was a walking contradiction.

The worst thing was, Louis genuinely seemed to believe what he was saying. He really _did_ want to be modest. Humble. Words that Blair hated almost as much as she hated 'equality'.

"You know, Blair, you are the first girl I've met who shares my views. All anyone here seems to care about is...money." (Only someone with as much as he did could say it with such disdain, Blair decided). "Having a good time."

"Imagine!" she agreed in horror. "I can assure you, your highness - not all of us are that shallow."

"Please, call me Louis."

Still, his French accent was rather attractive. And he was _very_ good-looking.

"I really don't want to go to the gala tomorrow," he was sighing now. "But my mother insists."

Blair pulled a sympathetic face. "I know what you mean. My mother is just the same."

Actually, she had a feeling Eleanor would have objected quite strongly to this gala, since Nate wouldn't be attending. Too bad the woman was in France again.

"Perhaps we can keep each other company?" she suggested. "It's nice to know there'll be someone else in the room hating it as much as I am, anyway."

(Oh yes; Blair loathed meals at twenty five dollars a head.)

Louis' face lit up. "That would be lovely."

She smiled back at him, radiant. "Then I'll see you tomorrow." It would definitely be lovely, if Blair had her way.

Everything was falling into place.

* * *

><p>"What the hell is this?" Carter's face wrinkled in sheer disbelief as he scanned the headline, glancing up at his best friend. "Bad boy Bass goes good?"<p>

Chuck spared the picture of himself a glance too; he'd definitely picked the right suit. Its tone went well with the grimness of the orphanage behind him. Though that awful child next to him really was too close.

"Haven't you heard?" he smirked. "I'm a new man. Reformed by my...new woman."

Carter spared the girl in the photo a glance. "That French floozy?"

"Eve has shown me the error of my ways," Chuck sighed. "What can I say?"

"According to this artice, her name is Eva," Carter answered drily. "You might want to remember that before you show her to Bart."

Chuck ignored him. "I'm taking her to the benefit at the Palace tomorrow. It's the perfect place to introduce her to the old man. I'll have him eating out of the palm of my hand by the end of the night. He won't even remember the old Chuck Bass." Well, until he got his money. Then it was goodbye Eva, hello freedom once again.

Carter just scoffed. "You really think Bart will fall for this?"

The other man's eyes narrowed, just a little. "He doesn't have a choice. Everyone else has."

"A few newspaper articles and strategic photographs don't make a reformed man, Bass. Bart knows that even if the tabloids don't."

Chuck's gaze was cold. "This will work." His tone offered no room for argument; not that Carter paid it any heed.

"What would have worked," he sighed, "Is you falling in _love_." Like _love _was a real concept to either of them. "You don't think your father's pulled stunts like this himself when he wanted a deal to come through? Bart Bass, family man? Defender of the poor?" He shook his head. "You know the old man only has one weakness."

His dead wife.

Chuck's jaw was tight. "Hence the French girl."

"Her?" Carter didn't even bother looking at her photo again. "You think he'll believe you let someone like _her _tame you?"

"So what do you suggest?" Chuck snapped.

"I've given you my suggestion,"Carter drawled in answer. "But you don't think you can handle it." He tossed the newspaper onto Chuck's desk with thinly veiled scorn. "So carry on pretending to be a saint. Just don't come to crying to me when Fabiano comes looking for his money, and all you have to offer him is a few staged photographs."

He sauntered out, leaving Chuck to glare at his retreating back.

And his mood did not improve at the hesitatant knock and the untamed mop that appeared in Carter's place.

"Mr. Bass?"

"Chuck," he corrected, almost a snarl.

Not because of any pretense at friendliness; but because his father was Mr. Bass. He was _Chuck Bass. _Separate. He hadn't been Bart Bass' son in a long time. (Apart from that brief forage back into his old life the other week). For a girl, he reminded himself, that wasn't even worth it.

The fool in front of him was halfway through attempting a sentence, and Chuck sighed in irritation as he recalled the stutter from a few days a go.

"Hamphrey," he snapped. "What?"

"Actually, it's-"

"What the hell are you doing in my office?"

The man blinked. "Y - there was something you wanted me to do tonight, and I, uh-"

"You what?" There was no sympathy in Chuck Bass's gaze; only boredom. Annoyance.

Perhaps that was what made Dan switch to the offensive. He didn't like feeling insignificant - he'd had enough of it. He was sick of it.

"I can't do anything tonight. I'm busy."

There was a deadly silence.

"Excuse me?" Chuck said at last, very softly.

Dan tried not to swallow; tried to stand his ground. He tried to call on his anger from just a few seconds ago. He tried to find his resolve. He tried to picture her face. His mission.

"I - I have something to do tonight. Something important."

"Something...important?" Chuck repeated, practically a purr. His black gaze flickered over the unfortunate man - almost amused, except there was no humour there. No trace of a smile.

"I bought the ring," Dan fumbled, wishing he didn't sound quite so pathetic; "And tonight's the night I'm going to-"

The look on Chuck Bass' face stopped him in his tracks. The look that said it wasn't even possible for him to care less about the moment Dan had spent the last several months fantasizing over. The look that said Dan was the world's biggest fool for thinking any different.

"I just," he swallowed. "I was wondering if you had anyone else..."

"Anyone else," Chuck enquired, "Who could repay your debt?" He lifted a brow. "What are you saying, Daniel? You want to hand over your mother in exchange?"

"No!" The look of horror on Dan's face was instant; horror because at that moment, he really could believe Chuck was serious. That there was an actual threat to his family.

"I just - is there any chance I could do something another night? Any night but tonight?"

"I need your services tonight," Chuck said, very evenly, as though it were quite simple.

"But-"

"But?"

Dan's shoulders slumped. The message was clear. It wasn't an option.

"I'll be there," he muttered.

"Good."

Dan turned to go. Why, he wondered. Why had he ever agreed to do this? What was _wrong _with him? And now he'd lose the chance to speak to her on the one night of the week she wasn't otherwise occupied -

"Oh, and Daniel?"

He paused.

Chuck's voice was like cold steel. "Don't ever let me see you in my office again."

* * *

><p>The sweeping ballroom of the Palace, with its gleaming marble collumns and high ceilings, was the perfect venue for the annual St. Vincent Philanthropic Society's exquisite gala. Bart Bass always ensured that it was as sumptuous and elegant an affair as the charity required; and this year was no execption.<p>

Blair stood at the top of the grand staircase, and she made sure that every eye on the room was on her. Just as she'd planned. She knew she looked gorgeous; the blue silk of her dress clung to her ivory skin, accented with the thick pearls around her neck and loose, curled hair.

Most importantly, though - Louis' eyes were on her. And only her. She sent him a smile across the ballroom that he instantly returned. Her smile stayed fixed in place even as she recognised another pair of eyes and, all of a sudden, wanted to scowl.

What the hell was _he_ doing here?

It may have been his father's hotel, but it was a well-known fact that Chuck Bass hadn't set foot in the Palace in a long time. Bart's prized jewel was the symbol of a world of which Chuck was no longer a part. He had no place in elegant ballrooms anymore.

And certainly not in _charity_ events.

She'd seen the headlines. Each one - each smug photo of him - more irritating than the next. _She_ was suppoed to be dominating the newspapers with her charity work, damnit. Was he _trying _to get in her way? How was Louis supposed to see what a good peson she was when every bit of news seemed to be about the new and improved Chuck Basstard?

Well, she wasn't about to let him ruin tonight.

* * *

><p>Chuck took in Blair's stunning appearance with some dislike. He'd read about her and the prince - so she'd found a new boy to tease. And no doubt a prince fulfilled every childhood fantasy she'd has since the age of three.<p>

He had more pressing matters to deal with, anyway. Such as locating his father.

Bart might have overseen the preparations for tonight, but his attendance wasn't garuanteed. He was a busy man, after all. Chuck had been told enough times growing up.

He gritted his teeth in another cold smile as he caught sight of Blair's far too perfect grin. The French girl slipped her arm into his, and Chuch steeled himself for a long night of that irritating presence at his side. He'd have to control his impulse to bat her away.

Blair Waldorf was nothing.

She was less than nothing, and Bart had better turn up tonight.

* * *

><p>Carter was in the middle of enjoying two dancers over his gin and tonic when a particularly unwelcome figure appeared in front of him, blocking his view.<p>

"Georgina," he sighed.

Great. Just what he needed.

She smiled, cool, as she dropped down onto the sofa next to him without invitation and snatched up his drink. She promptly spat it back into the glass.

"Where's the gin in this?"

She waved impatiently for the girls to leave, signalling the bartender at the same time.

"What do you want?" Carter drawled, irritation leaking into his voice. He'd been planning on enjoying tonight. Even if it was just so that he could rub it in Chuck's face when he got back from his _charity_ event. And enjoyment did not involve Georgina Sparks. Not when she had that gleam in her eye.

The two of them rarely interacted, and Carter intended on keeping it that way.

She ignored his question. Of course. She took a sip of whatever drink she'd ordered as her eyes flickered, lazy, around the club.

"Quite a joint you've got here. It's a shame about the security." She was apparently watching the dancers on stage as she added, "I'd hate to see it shut down."

Carter just rolled his eyes. "I'd like to see you try."

"Careful, Baizen." She pursed her lips over the glass. "That sounds like a challenge."

He let out a short laugh. "Please. You've got nothing, and you know it."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Her voice was low and dangerous.

"Just tell me what you want so you can leave, already."

"What do I want?" she murmured, tilting her head. Her eyes were still on the stage. She almost seemed to consider the question - like she didn't already know the answer. "I want you to keep your little friend away from Blair."

The man simply snorted.

"What's so funny?" she asked, soft.

"It's not really funny," he sneered back. "More sad. You still can't let Waldorf go, can you? You're still _jealous_ of Chuck."

"Jealous?" she echoed. "Jealous of what, exactly?"

"Blair and Chuck used to be partners in crime, till you decided you wanted your own best friend. And now you're scared he's going to replace you again."

Her eyes narrowed, though her tone was quite calm. "Replace me? In case you hadn't noticed, Blair can't stand him. And don't talk to me about stealing best friends, Baizen. Where would you be without Chuck?"

Carter laughed like the idea was ridiculous. "You mean where would he be without me."

She smirked into her glass, and he suddenly found himself annnoyed. And he had good reason to be, he reflected, when someone as obsessive as _Georgina_ was comparing herself to him. Carter Baizen needed no one. Carter Bazien had _created _Chuck.

He was quick to compose himself. "Blair's going to end up falling in_ love_ with Chuck," he jeered. "And there's nothing you can do about it."

"Chuck Bass," Georgina said icily, "Is only going to break her heart. She knows that. And so do you. All I'm doing is looking out for her."

"I'm sure."

"And you're going to look out for her too," she carried on. "Or you'll regret it."

"Well," Carter sighed, "That sounds terrifying. But if you don't mind - I'd like to go back to having a good time." He caught the eye of one of his employees, nodding at the insane girl next to him. "Goodnight, Georgina."

The man had already arrived to see her out.

"I mean it, Baizen. Keep him away from her."

He merely rolled his eyes again.

"I said goodnight, Georgina."

He downed the rest of her drink once she was gone, scowling as the neat vodka burned his throat. Please. He was not about to be intimidated by someone like Georgina Sparks.

* * *

><p>"Thank you," Blair smiled, charming, up at the waiter as he helped her into her chair. Like she usually bothered thanking <em>staff. <em>But Louis seemed impressed with her sweet demeanour, so she kept the smile pasted on her face. Even when she saw the place card next to her.

Oh, no.

No way.

Chuck was just guiding Eva across the dining room like the perfect gentleman he was - one eye kept trained for Bart - when he realised the table he'd been directed to.

Oh, hell no.

Blair was still smiling, but the look in her eyes said quite clearly - _don't you dare. _

And he would quite happily have looked for another table, or slipped the waiter something to move them; were it not for that look.

He had no desire to sit on a table with Blair Waldorf and watch her fawning over some prince. But presented with the opportunity to irritate her - well, he couldn't help himself. So it was with vindictive satisfaction that he slid into the place at her side, Eva opposite him.

And her disgusted glare was worth it.

She was stiff as a poker next to him, so he deliberately brushed her with his arm as he reached over to help himself to some water. And then hid a smirk - he didn't think it was possible for her to get any stiffer.

He was enjoying winding her up so much that it took him a moment to realise the prince was in the middle of introducing himself. Repressing a sigh, he finally turned his gaze on the man. As suspected, he was nothing special. He didn't need to be, if he was going to make Blair a princess.

He tried hard not to snort when he was introduced to 'Bleh.'

"Delighted to make your acquaintace, Miss Waldorf."

His smile was flawless; hers was even better.

"Charmed, I'm sure."

He _accidentally_ brushed her again and she elbowed him, hard, before pulling herself upright to beam over at Louis. Which was when she realised Chuck's bimbo was in the middle of burbling something in French to him, clearly awed to be in the presence of royalty.

And Louis - did Louis actually look enchanted?Like her gaucheness was in some way _appealing?_ What exactly, Blair seethed, had happened to his desire to be treated like a normal person?

The French girl was quite oblivious to the daggers Blair was sending her.

"Bleh Waldorf," she smiled now, like she was genuinely pleased to meet her (ugh); and somehow her French accent was nowhere near as attractive as Louis'. "I am always hearing about your style - they say you are the most glamourous woman in Manhattan!"

Blair usually appreciated a good bit of fawning. But not when she was trying to convince Louis that she could be a people's princess too. Not when Louis was smiling at the girl's naivete like it was _adorable_.

"Really?" Chuck drawled. "I heard that was Serena van der Woodsen."

It was designed to cut; but Blair just gave him a little smirk. Like he'd done her a favour.

A smirk that disappeared as she lowered her head, modest. "I'm sure that's true. She's far more glamourous than I am; she cares far more about her wardrobe." Her eyes met Louis'. "It's just not as important to me."

Chuck scoffed so hard into his soup it was a miracle the prince didn't notice. Fortunately, Blair was able to distract him with another sweet smile. Was His Highness so taken by the curve of her lips and that half dimple, Chuck wondered, that he didn't bother lifting his gaze to her eyes? Because it was as plain as day to _him_ that that smile didn't so much as touch the glimmering brown of her gaze.

He hadn't seen it do so in a long time.

"Bleh has a great love of helping others," Louis was explaining proudly.

"It's a curse," Blair agreed - and she made a point of ignoring Chuck's twisted mouth, though her foot may have accidentally collided with his leg. Heel side.

"Shuck is the same," Eva was chirping brightly; and Blair wished she could bury her heel in her leg instead. The conversation was supposed to be about _her_, not the liar on her other side.

Eva beamed up at him - was she really too blind to see the sheer calculation in his eyes?

"I just wish I could do more," he smirked.

He was making a _mockery _of all Blair's hard work. It was obvious he took none of this seriously. Appearing generous was a lifetime's work. Being _good _required the highest effort.

And here he was, sitting at _her _table, comandeering _her _prince's attention with that little French slut. This was Bart Bass' hotel and Chuck Bass did not belong here.

This was _her _world.

"So, Charles," she smiled ingratiatingly. Oh, he hated _Charles. _"Tell us. What other hobbies do you have? When you're not..." She feigned confusion, a polite pause. "What is it you do?"

"Shuck is in the entertainment industry," Frenchie piped up.

"Well." Blair exchanged a look with Louis (or tried to. Louis wasn't very good at picking up cues). "That sounds...interesting. What exactly does that mean?"

"Shuck owns a restaurant," the blonde beamed. "The food there is simply parfait." Another adoring gaze up at a still bared-teeth Chuck. "And he shares it every week with the homeless. He is so generous." Her eyes lit up with genuine warmth as an idea occurred to her. "You should come one day, Bleh!"

Blair just about managed to contain her horrified expression at the idea, but Chuck was already grinning nastily as he watched her.

"Actually, I think Blair would rather spend time in a zoo than a homeless shelter. Didn't you once say animals are cleaner?"

It was worth it for the look of pure venom he received from her. She seemed to recall a seven year-old Chuck Bass agreeing with that sentiment at the time.

"I have no idea what your talking about, _Sharles._ And what exactly changed your mind about sharing food? Or do you let the staff eat from your kitchens now?"

Louis paused for a moment as he blinked between them. "I'm sorry, do you two know each other?"

They stopped glaring long enough to give a simultaneous, vehement _no_.

And Chuck recovered faster. "Miss Waldorf moves in far higher cirlces than I do," he added.

Blair forced a laugh. "Don't be silly, Charles. They're not higher_." _She addressed her words at Louis with a bright smile. She believed in equality. She did. "Just...different."

Different. Meaning her circles had _class. _

Different, Chuck agreed. His circles had_ fun. _

_"_I think it's wonderful," Eva said shyly, "That we are all interested in the same thing anyway."

Money? Chuck and Blair wondered.

"Helping those less fortunate," Louis agreed.

The smile he sent the blonde's way was enough to put Blair off her food altogether. Chuck was already trying not to grimace at the sickliness of it all.

"To charity," he bit out, toasting with his pitiful glass of water.

It didn't count as a toast if it wasn't alcohol, anyway.

* * *

><p>Dan Humphrey didn't usually drink.<p>

But here he was, poor quality sherry (a long forgotten present for his now dead grandma) in one hand, a small and precious box in the other.

_The_ box.

Dan Humphrey didn't usually drink - ever - but then he didn't usually work for criminals either. He didn't usually spend all night keeping the coast clear while two thieves broke into an orphanage to steal back the money their boss had donated only the other day.

Dan Humphrey had reached a new low.

Dan Humphrey was desperate.

Dan Humphrey was standing in front of the Palace - and he was going to get in. He was going to get to her. And he was going to tell her. Finally.

He just had to get past the doorman. The doorman that had just thrown him out with a look of sheer disgust on his heavy set face. Locate the side door, he decided. Not quite the grand entrance he'd had planned - but there had to be an entrance for staff.

He stumbled off in search of it, still clutching the box.

* * *

><p>Blair had never been more relieved for the final course to be cleared away. She'd got so caught up in trying to prove how much better than Chuck she was - and it was all <em>his <em>fault, for distracting her in the first place - that she'd failed to notice the warning signs and steer the conversation away from the dangerous topic of Louis and Eva's homeland. It had been France this and France that throughout the entire meal - they'd even had the cheek to slip into French at one point.

Blair loved France, of course. And her French was fluent.

But she was always going to be at a disadvantage to someone who was actually French. Especially someone with glowing blonde hair and the soft smile of a saint. How the hell was it even possible for someone to be that _nice? _

Louis was clearly enraptured.

Him falling for the wrong girl - even worse, for a nobody - had definitely not been part of the plan.

So Blair would soon put a stop to that.

She managed to slip away from them as she joined the throngs heading for the ballroom; and she seized another brunette's arm instead just before they entered the room.

"Finally," she hissed at Georgina. "Where have you _been_?"

The two of them were already disappearing into the ladies room where they could have a conversation away from prying eyes.

She didn't bother waiting for an explanation, either. "We need to get rid of that French imbecile."

Georgina was busy fixing her hair in the mirror, adjusting the green velvet of her dress. "I thought you wanted to marry him."

"Ha ha." Blair rolled her eyes. She was in no mood for Georgie's jokes. She tugged savagely at her own dress, dabbing on a little extra scent. "I'm serious. The little whore is ruining everything."

Georgina had already pulled out a lipstick; she paused for a moment. "Whore?" Her mouth shifted into a slow smile. "I knew I recognised her for somewhere."

Blair stopped mid-reapplying her own lipstick. And a slow smile crossed her own face, too. "No." No; this was too good.

"London," Georgie grinned. "Last year. Remember Freddy?" Blair had a vague recollection of her friend's English beau - she'd lost interest herself, upon discovering that he was just an accountant. "He had some...interesting likes, in the bedroom. Girl on girl was one of them."

Blair would ordinarily have made a show of pulling a face at the vulgarity - but this was too delicious for words.

She _knew _Eva was too good to be true.

She pursed her lips in sheer satisfaction, ensuring that the redness was perfect before slipping her bag back under her arm.

"Well," she mused contentedly. Her eyes sparkled at Georgie's in the mirror. "It looks like she and I need to have words."

* * *

><p>It didn't escape Chuck's notice that Blair slipped back into the ballroom looking like the cat that had caught the canary; in fact, it only served to aggravate him more, given that his father still hadn't shown up.<p>

He longed for a drink - longed for anything other than his fixed smile and impeccable manners. Not even manners; what he really hated was being _nice. _After all, he'd been brought up with the veneer of a gentleman - what was killing him, now, was having to pretend he cared. He didn't care about most things, and usually he made that quite obvious.

Which was impossible, here.

He'd even missed _Blair _while she'd disappeared. At least annoying her had given him something to do. (And quite a lot of pleasure, if he was honest).

Those French accents were somehow even more grating when she wasn't around to intercut them with her sharp tongue. And at least he'd known someone else was faking it as much as he was when Blair was there.

The worst thing about Eva and Louis, by far, was that they were actually _genuine._ Giving Louis permission to dance with Eva had given him a brief moment of satisfaction (it had got rid of them for a bit, and, even better, would no doubt infuriate Blair).

He prowled out to intercept her, now, just as her gaze fell on the dancing couple and her expression darkened most beautifully.

But she still looked very pleased about something; and he was intrigued, despite himself. Well, it wasn't like there was anything else to interest him here.

"Care to dance?"

He was fully expecting her to refuse (and fully planning on seizing her waist anyway, just to drive her crazy) - but instead, she smiled as she slipped her hand into his.

Eyebrows cocked, he led her onto the dancefloor.

He'd say one thing about Blair Waldorf.

She knew how to dance.

Even if it was nothing more than the practiced steps they'd both had drilled into them from childhood - she kept up with him. Not many girls did. Her waist fit nicely into his arm, too, and her eyes were just the right height beneath his. He pulled her closer and found himself enjoying the scent of her perfume, the light fragrance of her hair. And her body was so warm in his arms as they moved to the music.

It was funny, considering how hard she tried to stay cold.

So it was partially to get to her, and partially for his own enjoyment that he pulled her closer than most of the other couples stood; pulled her tight so that her small breasts were pressed against his chest.

He could tell from the way she tensed in his hold, just marginally, that she was uncomfortable - but her gaze flickered to Eva and she smiled once more. It wasn't a nice smile, and Chuck enjoyed it.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice tickling her ear. "Why are you wasting your time on someone as dull as Louis?" He tilted his head down at her. They were dancing so close that only she could hear, but his voice was still low against her skin. "You're telling me there's no prince even a little more interesting to help you live out your precious fantasy?"

Blair turned her cheek to gaze back up at him. "Louis," she responded, "Is a good man. I know that's something you'll never understand."

She felt the rumble of a laugh in his throat. "You honestly think someone that good could ever love you?"

Her smirk died, just for a second, and he had the thrill of knowing he'd got to her. He didn't know why she'd want to be loved by someone _good _anyway. The thought of a girl like Eva loving him was actually nauseating.

She went to pull away but he dragged her back.

"Now now," he murmured, spinning her round. "You can't leave before the song finishes. That would look rude."

They twirled past an elderly couple Blair knew, clearly goggling at the dark pair - Blair smiled back as she hissed into Chuck, "Let me _go_."

His fingertips trailed her waist deliberately and revelled in her flinch. "Go where?" He spared the French couple a glance, looking back down at Blair with evident pleasure. "Your prince is otherwise occupied."

He pulled her even closer just as the song drew to a close - and then she wrenched herself free, mouth curving in triumph as she followed his gaze to the innocent blonde girl. Her new target.

"Not for much longer."

And since there was still no sign of Bart, Chuck found himself rather looking forward to whatever havoc she was about to wreak.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - I'm so sorry for taking so long to update, I've just got back for Christmas and have been enjoying being home too much :) The gala was originally going to be one chapter, but I decided to split it - second half shouldn't be too long in coming. **

**Thank you so so much for all your wonderful reviews; and if I don't update before then, Merry Christmas! **


	5. Chapter 5

"Bleh," Eva smiled as she noticed the brunette approach. "You must dance with Louis."

The warmth in Louis' eyes at her generosity made Blair want to roll her own; but she kept her smile fixed in place. "Actually, Eva, there was someone asking after you."

The French girl glanced round. "Shuck?"

Both their gazes landed on the dark figure on the other side of the room. He was in, in fact, looking in their direction - but judging from the redheads on either side (Blair wondered, with a twist of irritation, how they'd materialised so quickly) - he had no inclination of coming over to dance with his actual plus one.

"No," Blair replied sweetly. "Actually, there was a gentleman from London who seemed to recognise you...though he wouldn't say from where?"

The impact of her words was everything she'd wanted. Eva paled instantly, turning like a deer trapped in the headlights.

"Do you know anyone from London?" she pressed, smiling.

Chuck knew that smile even from across the room. It was the same one she'd used to out Hazel's sixth birthday party dress as second hand.

"No," Eva managed to stutter. "He must be mistaken." She couldn't bring herself to meet the prince's eyes any more. "Excuse me."

She fled, and Blair should have been happy. But Louis was gazing after her with a furrowed brow, and for a moment even looked like he was going to run after her.

Luckily, Blair soon distracted him. And grabbed his hand in hers so he couldn't get away.

"I believe you owe me a dance, your highness?"

She fluttered her eyelashes up at him; he smiled back, even if his mind was clearly on the French slut. Blair would soon get it back to where it was supposed to be. On her.

"So," she urged. "Tell me more about that...hospital you were building?"

Chuck snorted and went back to his drink.

Which, incidentally, was far nicer now that he'd added that little drop from his hip flask.

* * *

><p>Then again, perhaps that little drop had been a mistake.<p>

Perhaps that little drop warmed Chuck's blood enough that he didn't notice the chill in the room when his father entered.

For whatever reason, he was taken off guard when he turned round to find himself suddenly faced with a pair of cold blue eyes. Of course Bart had come now, when Chuck could be caught in position with a socialite on either side.

"Father."

He cleared his throat, removing himself from the girls' grasps.

"It's good to see you."

And Chuck was a good liar. The sight of the man's crisply pressed suit brought out a familiar wave of repressed loathing. He arranged his face into a smile anyway.

Bart didn't bother with as much. "What are you doing here?"

"You haven't heard about my new love for philanthropy?" Chuck raised an eyebrow. He _knew_ Bart would have read as much in the papers. Even if it was his son - the man had to stay informed at all times.

Bart just sighed. "What are you really doing here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, father. Why shouldn't I attend a charity gala if I want to?" Chuck's tone was calm and impassive as he stared the old man down. You couldn't so much as flinch when you were dealing with Bart Bass.

Bart's eyes narrowed. "This isn't the place, Charles."

"For what?" his son challenged evenly.

"For your bad habits." There was evident disgust in his voice - not that it affected Chuck.

"Well, that's where you're wrong, _dad." _He smiled, faint. "I actually brought a...friend tonight." He sorted his feautures into something more genuine. "Someone I was hoping you'd meet." As he spoke, though, he was hastily casing the room for Eva. Where the hell had she gone? Blair's little game had all been very amusing until Bart showed up.

Now he actually needed the French bimbo.

Bart followed his gaze. "Don't tell me you've lost her already?"

Chuck let out a little laugh. His father was _hilarious. _"I'll just...fetch her." He had no idea where she was. His gaze narrowed in on Blair. The source of all his problems - of course.

Bart glanced over and gave a little snort. "I don't think Miss Waldorf would agree to go anywhere with someone like you, Charles."

His son's eyes darkened. The money, he reminded himself. He was here for the money. "No," he ground. "But I think she might know where my actual date is."

Blair would refuse to answer him, of course, but if he brought Bart along she might feel more pressure to reply. No one disobeyed Bart Bass. Well, no one in her kind of society.

Which was exactly why Chuck had left it.

Blair did not look pleased to see him - especially not when she'd been moving in for a second dance with Louis. But of course she smiled as soon as she saw Bart. Like a good little girl.

"Blair." Chuck nodded down at her; her smile tightened. "Could you tell me where Eva is?"

She paused for only a fraction of a second. "Sorry. No idea."

She went to take Louis' arm again, but the Frenchman was now looking a little worried.

"She left very quickly," he explained. "I thought something might be wrong. You can't find her now?"

_Ten points for deduction, _Chuck thought nastily. Blair sure knew how to pick them. "Did you...perhaps...say something to upset her?" He addressed the question at Blair and Blair alone.

She glowered back. "Of course not."

But Louis was working it out. "You mentioned a man from London - perhaps she did not want to see zis man?" And then more alarm crossed his handsome face; "Perhaps he is a threat to her. We should check that she is-"

"I'm sure she's fine," Blair cut in, outraged. Louis was _not_ marching off in search of some French trollop. The harshness in her voice made Louis raise an eyebrow - and she realised she needed to tone it down. "I mean...how could she not be? She probably just went home. I'm sure she doesn't want to be disturbed." She smiled.

"How convenient," Bart stated drily. He looked bored and more than a little annoyed.

But Louis was still anxious. "She is a very sweet girl. Innocent. Very...vulnérable." He scratched his head, eyes flickering away from Blair and towards the door. "I do not like to think of her outside alone at zis time."

"Well done, Charles," Bart commented. That sounded like his son all over.

Blair was slowly boiling over. _Sweet? __Innocent? _And Louis wasn't even _looking_ at her any more.

"Oh," she snapped before she could stop herself, "I'm pretty sure she's fine walking the streets at night. I'd say she's probably used to it."

Louis looked confused.

Bart and Chuck, however, knew exactly what she meant.

"You brought a prostitute," Bart sighed, "To a charity event." He shook his head. He'd expected nothing less. "Good night, Charles."

And with that, he was gone.

Chuck glared straight past a gaping Louis and over at Blair.

"Thanks a lot, Waldorf," he snarled.

Blair shot him a look back and was on the verge of retorting when a commotion disturbed all of them.

The ballroom doors had been flung open, and a rather ruffled figure was making its way through the crowds of people. All of whom were quick to give him a wide berth, brows raised.

Blair was watching with appalled entertainment - that was, until she realised where the figure was heading. Until it came to a stop in front of her and she realised she knew who it was.

Oh, good God. What the hell was this?

"Blair."

Chuck squinted. Was that...Humphrey? And was he addressing -

"Blair." Dan struggled to regain his breathing as he reached into his jacket pocket for the box; his eyes were on her and only her, and God did she look -

Angry.

She had no choice but to acknowledge him now that he'd yelled her name. Could the ground not swallow her up? "Humphrey," she growled. "_What_ are you doing here?"

"You left me with no choice. Everytime I try to see you, you're busy. So I-"

"Decided not to take a hint?" Chuck smirked.

Blair spared him a glare, but Humphrey was too focused on his declaration.

"Blair, I love you."

Ok, his wildest daydreams hadn't included the look of alarm now on her face - but he had to carry on.

"I - I've tried to fight it. I have. I mean, I love you against all my better judgement. You're spoilt, and vain - you're everything I hate about the Upper East Side. But I've seen another side to you too. I've seen that you're-"

"Humphrey." Blair's voice alone should have stopped him in his tracks. "Shut. Up." She was all too aware of everyone watching. Of Louis watching. And of that damn Chuck Basstard's smirk. "Now."

"No," he persisted. "Blair, you have to listen to me." He swallowed. "I'm not going anywhere till you look me in the eye and tell me you don't feel it too." That sounded like the kind of statement someone would write about.

She just stared at him. "Feel _what?" _

But he wouldn't let it deter him. "All those hours we spent discussing Austen," he reminded her. Their rousing debates and witty banter - he hadn't made it up. "You read the same books as me. You like the same plays." He'd never met a girl as cultured and intelligent as she was. He'd never met a girl that challenged and intellectually stimulated him like she did.

He'd never met a girl that could stare at him with quite so much incredulous disgust.

"You were my chauffeur," she hissed. "Excuse me for not ignoring you. I didn't realise it would be interepreted as-"

"I was more than your chauffeur," he interupted. "And you know it." He swallowed again, steeling himself. "And I'm not a chauffeur any more." (That had been a low point in his life). He pulled out the ring and sank down on one knee.

Oh, no.

This could not be happening.

Chuck almost felt sorry for Blair as he saw the look of absolute horror on her face. Almost. He was enjoying this too much. And, even better - there was the diamond. It was as pathetic as he'd imagined.

"Get up," she managed frantically, edging her shoes away from him. "Get up, Humphrey, now. I mean it."

"Blair Waldorf." He held the ring out. "Will you-"

"If you finish that sentence, Humphrey, I swear to God I will-"

"Come on, Humphrey. I think someone's had a bit too much to drink."

Both Dan and Blair turned in shock - because Chuck was now dragging Dan to his feet and guiding him towards the door. Chuck.

Blair stared.

_Chuck _had just helped her?

Dan was spluttering with indignation - even more so once he realised who was taking him away. Chuck Bass? Chuck Bass was _here? _

Only once they were out of the ballroom and out of earshot did Chuck release him.

"What are you _doing_?" He tried to get past the man and back into the ballroom, but Chuck wasn't budging.

"You should be thanking me," he sighed. "I just saved you from making an even bigger ass of yourself. If that's even possible."

Dan pulled himself upright. "You have no idea what you're talking about-"

"You honestly think," a quiet, furious voice cut into their conversation. "That I would have said _yes_?"

In fact, Chuck noted, she was practically quivering with rage. He was almost disappointed that for once it wasn't actually aimed at him.

Dan gulped as he gazed at her white face. "I thought-"

"_What_?" Blair snarled. "That we're meant to be because we both like _reading_? You know," she spat, "Sometimes I share novels with Dorota. Are you saying _we _should get married?"

"No," the unfortunate man stuttered. "But it's - it's more than that." He stared at her. "We were friends."

It was exactly the wrong word to say.

"When are you going to get this through your head? We were never _friends_!"

"We were-"

"No!"

Dan blinked, at a loss.

Blair managed to regain her composure. "Listen to me, Humphrey. I don't want to see you again. You've just humiliated me in front of hundreds of people." She folded her arms, eyes gleaming dangerously. "I've destroyed people for less. So take your ring," - Chuck couldn't resist the faintest of snorts - "And give it to someone who _wants_ it."

Humphrey shook his head. He was getting anrgy himself now, self-righteousness settling itself on his shoulders. "All this, just because I'm from Brooklyn?"

Blair stared at him. "Humphrey," she sighed at last. "You said it yourself. I'm vain and selfish. And even if I could overlook where you come from...the fact that you could never actually provide for me...your questionable taste in clothes," her gaze lingered over his jacket - "Or that hair - the fact is, no one wants a partner who loves them _against their better judgement. _So, whichever poor girl you propose to next - I'd advise leaving that bit out. All right?"

Well, that knocked the fight out of him.

Chuck watched Humphrey go with mild interest. Considering what he'd done, Blair should have ripped him to pieces. In Chuck's opinion, Humphrey had got off quite lightly. Was it possible Blair _did _have some...feelings for him?

"And don't forget, Humphrey - you'll be expected at nine o'clock tomorrow night," he called after the man.

Blair froze, rounding on Chuck. "He's working for _you_?" Her eyes narrowed, instant. "Did you put him up to this? Did you deliberately sabotage-"

"Calm down." Chuck held out hand to stop her. "If I'd invited him here, do you really think I would have stopped him right before the good bit?" He rolled his eyes. "Really, you should be thanking me."

Unknown to both of them, Dan hadn't gone anywhere. There was no way he was leaving Blair alone with someone like Chuck Bass. What was confusing him was the fact that she actually seemed to know him. How was that even possible? He stayed where he was, anyway, hidden behind a pillar. He would be out as soon as Blair needed him.

Blair,, meanwhile, had suddenly realised that Chuck was still touching her and promptly removed herself. "Why_ did_ you stop him?" she demanded.

"Maybe I wanted to rescue the damsel in distress," Chuck grinned, leaning closer to tap her on the nose. She glowered at the condescending gesture, hating his proximity (or the effect his proximity had? No, of course not). She didn't believe him for a second.

He'd actually done it because he'd noticed Bart watching the interloper with obvious displeasure - nobody liked a scene in their own hotel - and he'd seen an opportunity to place himself in the man's good books. (Of course. Why else would he have done it?)

"And now," he went on, smirking, "I believe you owe me."

"I don't owe you anything," she snapped. "I could have handled that by myself, thank you."

"Oh, I could see. You were doing such a great job."

She scowled. "If you don't mind, I'm going back to Louis. He owes me a dance."

But Chuck had caught her wrist before she could go anywhere. "Let's not forget," he purred softly. "You also ruined my night. Outing Eva? That was unecessary."

She glared down at his hand on her pale skin. "It's not my fault the only date you could get was a whore."

"And yet," Chuck sneered. "Louis seemed to think she was far more innocent than you were. In fact, I'd say the prince _preferred_ her. Was does that say about you, I wonder? That the frigid act doesn't attract anyone? At this rate, Waldorf, all the whores in Manhattan will be married before you are."

She went to slap him, but he was too fast - he caught her other wrist before she could. The pressure of his fingers against her veins made her breath catch, just for a moment.

"Let go of me."

Dan tensed behind the pillar. He'd wanted to jump out a while ago - who the hell did Chuck Bass think he was, speaking to her like that?

"Not until you agree to dinner," he grinned.

"How sweet. You think threats will make me want to spend an evening with you."

"Then how about the Rose Room?"

She paused, just for a moment. Her eyes were dark and wide as she gazed up at him, full of distrust. Was he making fun of her?

She'd used to fantasize about the Rose Room at the Algonquin when she was little. It was _the _place to have dinner. She'd been since - a luncheon with her mother - and had been oddly let down. She'd been stuffed into another dress for another formal event; and somehow, the magic was gone. It had felt like every other lunch she'd been forced to attend, where Eleanor ignored her until she did something wrong and the waiters paid attention to Serena and Serena alone.

Did Chuck even remember?

"I don't like the Rose Room," she responded brusquely. "It bores me. Almost as much as you're doing now. Let me go, Bass."

"Come on," he murmured, thumb trailing the line of her wrist. "Just one dinner. What are you so scared of?"

She opened her mouth to reply that maybe they should ask the other girls he'd 'taken out' to dinner; but instead found herself reponding tightly, "Nothing."

"One dinner," he smiled. "You can even pick the restaurant."

"I don't want to have dinner with you."

"You don't sound very convinced," he mused. "So, tomorrow at eight."

"I'm busy tomorrow."

He cocked an eyebrow in evident amusement. "Why?"

"Another event. And this one's at the Algonquin, actually. Not the Palace - so you won't be able to weasel your way in." She twisted her wrists, hard, snatching herself out his grasp. "Excuse me. Louis is waiting."

And she flounced off.

Chuck just smirked as he watched her leave. He didn't bother going back into the ballroom, heading straight for the exit - and straight past a still concealed Humphrey - instead.

He knew the owner of the Algonquin.

And it was time for a catch up.

* * *

><p>Blair was enjoying the luxury of a hot, oil-scented bath when Dorota knocked on the door. She'd needed a bath. She'd been feeling far too...tense, lately. She had no idea why.<p>

"This come for you, Miss Blair."

It was a telegram.

The Colony Club's annual gala had been postponed to next week, due to over-booking of the Algonquin.

Dorota looked a little nervous. Particularly given the way Blair's hands had tightened on the side of the bathtub. Her mistress was not looking so calm now. "And, uh...doorman deliver this too."

It was a handwritten note, signed with a flourished C.B. that made Blair instantly grit her teeth.

_So, _it read. _Tonight, 8 o'clock? I'll pick you up. _

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Sorry this took a bit longer than anticipated to update! Thanks so much for your lovely reviews :) **


	6. Chapter 6

Georgina sauntered into the room as Blair was adding the finishing touches to her make-up.

"Someone's all dressed up," she purred, eyes narrowed.

Blair rolled her own eyes. She'd spent the past hour trying to work out what to wear; not that Georgina was about to find that out. A part of her had wanted to put no effort in, just to prove how little Chuck and his stupid dinner meant to her - a clear sign of her protest - but she couldn't.

She was Blair Waldorf, and she couldn't let herself look awful.

So even as she'd hated herself for agonising over the right dress - hated Chuck even more - she'd nearly driven herself crazy doing it anyway.

For dinners, she usually went for a black dress - timeless, sophisticated - that showed just enough skin to tease. And pearls, for class. But all the black dresses in her wardrobe had felt too revealing; strapless, backless, skirts too short. There was no way she was giving Chuck that satisfaction. Any hint of bare skin felt like a crack in her armour. Besides which, he didn't deserve her usual dinner attire. It wasn't like he was a potential...anything.

So she'd tried to go the opposite way. High-necked, pastel - all of them ripped off and thrown to floor in disgust. The girl in the mirror had looked like one of her mother's ridiculous mannequins, a perfect little doll. And stupid stupid words like _pilgrim frock _and _frigid _had mocked her pristine reflection. It had occurred to her, then, that covering up too much would just prove his absurd theory that she was _scared _of him.

(Those dresses had made her look like a little girl, and there was still some buried part of her that needed to prove she'd grown up. That she wasn't the same silly little girl he'd used to play with. She'd never be that girl again).

At one point she'd even considered feigning illness and telling Dorota not to let him in. And then she'd been furious with herself. Who the hell was he, to have her so pathetic? Hiding away in her own room? She was Blair Waldorf, damnit.

She'd selected a dress eventually. It was bright red - bolder than her usual choices - but floaty chiffon, with elbow sleeves and a round neck. The skirt was mid-length too; not too long and not too short. She was satisfied.

Jewellery had proven another problem entirely. Did this dinner deserve to be graced with pearls? It wasn't like Chuck had any class anyway. But they were her favourite. And shouldn't she be highlighting her superiority to the Basstard? Proving that she was classes above his usual call girls?

She'd made the subconscious decision to avoid bright red lipstick, too, remembering his teasing from the Archibald party.

In the end she'd gone for the natural look of minimal make-up and jewellery. Because she really _didn't_ want him thinking she'd made an effort. She'd kept her hair loose and curled, too, suddenly uneasy about leaving the nape of her neck revealed. (God knew why. Her _neck_?) All she knew was that the weight of her hair covering it felt oddly reassuring. So down it would stay.

"So you're still going through with this?" Georgie sighed. Her disgust was clear. "And you're actually making an effort? This is Chuck Bass, remember?"

Blair grimaced back. "Thank you for reminding me. Besides," she went on deliberately, "I always make an effort. I'm not about to make an exception for _him_."

Georgina perched on Blair's bed without invitation. She still looked annoyed. "I just don't understand why you agreed in the first place."

"It's not like he left me with much choice," Blair snapped back.

"Please," the other girl snorted. "No one's forcing you to go out there in that car. You could have just kept him barred from the building."

Blair was starting to feel a little irritated now. She'd been on edge most of the day, and Georgie was doing nothing to help. She usually came over before dates so that they could work out a strategy - but this time Blair hadn't actually invited her. And now all she was doing was confirming Blair's fears.

"Look," she said impatiently. "I told you. By agreeing to this dinner, I'm letting him think he's won - so he'll lose interest and leave me alone. And I can tell him to go away, and make it abundantly clear. The dinner doesn't even have to be that long; a couple hours of torture, and with any luck, he'll be out of my life for good." She tucked a curl behind her ear as she continued to survey her reflection. "And then I can get on with my plan - free of his interference - and life can go back to the way it's supposed to be."

Georgina looked anything but convinced. "Sure. Because a dinner will satisfy him." She picked up the bright red lipstick Blair had discarded and ran it over her own lips, patting her hair. She had a date too - and she'd stuck to Blair's usual look, down to the black dress and hair piled up. It was, after all, a look they'd devised together.

"Well," Blair growled, "Maybe I can find out what he wants, then." With any luck. If she remembered correctly, she'd once been very good at reading Chuck Bass. She doubted he'd changed; men were always transparent, despite their best efforts.

"I think it's fairly obvious what he wants," Georgie drawled. "I just hope you don't fall for his usual line of crap and end up another notch on his bedpost. I don't think I could be your friend any more if that happened."

Blair stiffened. "I don't think so." Her voice was tight.

"Well, I'm sure it was 'just dinner' for all those other girls too..."

Blair glared at her. "Are you saying I'm that stupid?" she demanded, icy.

"No." Georgina was unperturbed as ever. "But maybe Bass is that good."

"Or maybe _you _were that stupid," Blair cut back. "But I'm not you, G. Remember?" She'd turned to face the other girl now, and there was a cold flash in her eyes as she regarded her.

Georgie simply tilted her head. "No," she murmured, gaze slanted. "Of course you're not."

Blair snatched up her clutch. "I'm going." She turned on her heel, pausing to add coolly, "Don't wait up tonight."

Georgina scowled as the other brunette disappeared. They usually met up afterwards to compare how their nights had been and plot their next move. She'd especially been hoping to do so tonight - she'd wanted to hear exactly how much Blair had enjoyed her time with Chuck.

Perhaps she would have to swing by the Algonquin instead.

* * *

><p>Blair's mood did not improve when she stalked into the foyer to find Chuck already waiting. He wore a smirk and a red bow-tie, a bouquet of peonies dangling from one hand.<p>

He noted her pique with some pleasure. Blair Waldorf in a bad mood had so far proved most entertaining. And the red complimented her anger almost as well as it complimented that dark hair and pale skin. Actually, she was looking quite delicious tonight - even he had to admit.

"Oh look." His eyes gleamed at her as he perused her figure. "We match."

She just glowered at his bow-tie. It seemed red had been the wrong choice after all.

It made his grin broaden as he held out his arm. She looked at it with evident distrust. What was this mockery of a gentleman's act? Manners won out in the end and she slipped her own in, gingerly. She was very careful to barely touch him at all, and infinitely grateful she'd decided against bare arms.

His hand slid to the small of her back as they stepped out of the elevator; and she practically flinched, jumping away from his touch. She could help herself into the car, thank you very much.

He gave a little eye roll and followed her in without bothering to leave a space between them on the plush seats. His leg brushed hers, and he watched the way she pressed herself against the other edge of the car. What did she think he was going to do, seduce her in the fifteen minute ride?

(Actually, it wouldn't be the first time these seats had seen some action...but still).

"I won't bite," he informed her, watching the streetlights and shadows play against her brown eyes. He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice wickedly. "Unless you ask me to."

Her glower was instant - but she actually seemed to relax a bit. "You're disgusting." Almost like she was relieved to see a flash of the real Chuck; or the Chuck she expected. The gentleman act really was making her nervous, and the silence had been getting to her. Having something to snap at made her feel far better.

"And yet here you are," he sighed. "I think you must find it just a little bit attractive."

"I'm here by coercion," she shot back drily. "Remember?"

He simply smirked.

* * *

><p>Really, Chuck mused as he watched her spear the tiniest amount of asparagus possible onto her dainty fork - her table manners were impeccable. He doubted anyone in the entire restaurant was sitting up straighter or taking smaller bites. He almost felt like he should compliment her; but he doubted that would win her round much. So he resisted the temptation and filled up her water glass instead.<p>

Such a shame there was no wine.

"How are you finding the Rose Room?" he enquired. "Still boring?"

Blair couldn't help it. Even though it was Chuck Bass opposite her. The stiff white table cloth and polished cutlery, the gleaming glasses and uniformed waiters - they had her slipping into polite Blair mode. She kept thinking she was safe, separated by the oak table - and then he'd throw her with comments that none of her usual dinner dates would be rude enough to make.

"No," she said rigidly. "It's lovely."

He cocked an eyebrow as he swept a glance around the elegant room. "You don't think it's a little...stifling?" He watched her as he said it, and she kept her smile intact.

If he thought for one second that he was making her uncomfortable, then he had another think coming.

"No," she retorted. "I believe the word you're looking for is refined."

God, that smirk again.

"Is the veal not to your liking?" he asked with a nod at her untouched meat. And she didn't think the smirk had entirely disappeared, despite the overly polite phrasing of his question.

You didn't tear into meat on a dinner date.

But then, since this was Chuck -

She pressed her fork into the veal, hard. She hated him. She really did. And she didn't like eating in front of people anyway. Perhaps it was because of how conscious her mother had made her of each bite; or perhaps it was that eating in general was decidedly...unattractive.

But eating in front of _him_?

He paused for just a moment. He hadn't meant to put her off her food, for God's sake. She was looking at the veal now like it was something he'd served up just to torture her. He leaned over with another eye-roll and lifted half the offending meat off her plate before she could protest, dropping it onto his own.

"What are you doing?" she cried, discomfort forgotten in her outrage. That was definitely _not _dinner etiquette.

"Sharing," he responded. He lifted a brow as he cut into the meat. "And here you thought I was selfish."

She was clearly indignant, but he did note that she ate the rest of her veal. Apparently he'd offended her enough that the meat wasn't quite as bad in comparison. In fact, he was starting to think that his bad behaviour was the only thing putting her at ease.

And if it was bad behaviour she wanted - well, that was no problem for him.

Blair waited till the dishes had been cleared away before jumping to her feet. And she did not try not to look too relieved. Honestly.

"Excuse me."

In the safety of the bathroom she reapplied her lipstick, staring at her reflection. She was being pathetic. This was not how the dinner was supposed to go at all - she was letting his poor semblance at manners actually fluster her. Her, Blair Waldorf.

(She blamed Georgina and her stupid comments.)

Well, no more.

She was going to go back out there and make it quite clear that this would be their last interaction. That Chuck Bass would tell her what he wanted, and then leave her alone. Refined atmosphere notwithstanding - she would _demand_ to know. Then she would call an end to this ridiculous dinner before dessert, and never have to see Chuck again. Apart from in the newspaper, perhaps, after his inevitable arrest. She exhaled, once, and headed back outside.

Chuck noted the difference in her demeanour as she sat down again. There was a definite gleam in her eye that hadn't been there while she was focusing on perfecting her table manners. He watched with interest.

"Chuck." She smiled over at him. "Thank you for a _great _dinner. It's been nice catching up."

"Catching up?" he echoed, amused. "All we've done all meal is make small talk."

She tilted her head, taking a sip of her water and ignoring the way his eyes trailed her throat as she swallowed. "What else were you expecting, exactly?"

The challenge was clear.

He pursed his lips to hide a faint smile of his own. "Are we strangers, then?"

That made her frown. "Of course we are. We haven't spoken in years." She seemed to realise that her tone was a tad sharper than she'd meant it to be; she smoothed it out with another even smile. "And while I think it's sweet that you made the effort to find out about an old childhood acquaintance-"

"I don't need a dinner to find out about your life," he interrupted idly. "I only have to look in the society pages."

She smiled again. "Of course." She highly doubted he bothered reading about her in the papers. She only read about him when she wanted to remind herself how much better her own life was in comparison. "So," she pressed, tight. "Then why _did_ you want this dinner?"

His eyes were black gold in the suppressed candle light; and he watched her still, as though studying her for a reaction. "Why do you think?" There was an odd mix of curiosity and challenge in his voice, and she realised he was actually waiting for her to answer.

(But underneath it all she knew he was only playing with her. What else did Chuck Bass do?)

"Honestly?" she arched her own brow. "I have no idea. I think I've made it pretty clear I don't want to see you again, so you must feel the same. Why draw it out with a dinner that neither of us actually wants?"

That did make him smile. Her snappiness was almost entertaining. "I thought I'd made it pretty clear that I _did_ want this dinner," he pointed out. He didn't give her time to respond. "We used to be friends, didn't we?"

For a moment she just stared at him. "When we were _six_, Chuck. Times change."

"I'm sure it was till we were eight," he corrected thoughtfully. "At least."

She tried very hard to keep her patience. She did. Why on earth was he bringing this up now? "Oh. So you invited me to dinner because you wanted to renew that friendship?" She gave him a sweet smile. "That's...adorable. Really." She managed to catch the eye of a passing waiter as she spoke, signalling him to come over. She'd had enough of Chuck and his stupid games. "But, if you don't mind-"

"Just what I was thinking," he smirked over at her, giving the waiter a nod too. "Time for dessert."

Her lips thinned. "Actually-"

"We'll have the eclairs. Thank you."

The waiter was already disappearing, oblivious to Blair's concentrated fury. She turned it back to the despicable man opposite her instead.

God, she hated him.

* * *

><p>Brett Haverall worked in the city - and you could tell. He was young, arrogant, and keen to flash his newly acquired cash. Which worked quite well for Georgina; he'd had no qualms about taking her to the pricey Rose Room. If anything, he'd been eager to.<p>

"Anything for you, baby."

She clung to his arm now, fluttering her eyelashes up at him as they made their way to the entrance.

He even paused to sling a few coins in the direction of a tramp standing on the stairs - just to show his generosity. He was too busy ostentatiously tucking his wallet back in to hear the man's yelp of pain as one coin struck him on the head.

And the couple had already reached the elevator by the time said man had worked out what was going on.

"Hey! I'm not begging!"

Georgina might have recognised Dan Humphrey's voice, but Brett Haverall certainly didn't. And neither did he care. He had a girl to impress.

Georgina smirked as she allowed him to lead her into the waiting elevator. This was too easy.

* * *

><p>"I thought eclairs were your favourite?"<p>

The innocence in Chuck's voice was perfect to a fault - the wicked glint in his eye, however, was not.

"I haven't had them for years," Blair retorted crisply. She wasn't lying. She might have enjoyed the lumps of chocolate and cream as a child - but they were hardly good for a girl's figure. Not to mention messy to eat.

"Come on," he smirked. "Your taste can't have changed that much, can it?"

He was _asking_ for that one. "Well, I used to be friends with you, didn't I?" Her smile dropped. "So clearly it can."

Chuck leaned a little closer over the table, still watching her as he pressed his fork into his own eclair. "I bet if you try, you'll see you enjoy it just as much as you used to."

She recoiled instantly as she realised he was holding the fork out for her.

Like she was actually going to lean across and eat from that? Did he have no table manners? Of course not - he just didn't care. And that kind of attitude was dangerous. Always.

"Don't be disgusting," she snapped.

He laughed. "Suit yourself."

She scowled as she realised that the laugh had actually caught her off guard. It sounded so much like a laugh she'd used to know. She hadn't heard Chuck Bass laugh in years, she realised.

Well - so what?

So the man could laugh.

Did that suddenly make him any less awful? Of course not. She stabbed, a little harder than she'd meant to, into her own eclair, and set about slicing it into tiny pieces.

Chuck wondered if she was imagining it as his face.

But Blair had been right. Eclairs were a messy food. And despite her best efforts, not even Blair Waldorf could eat them perfectly. He watched, entertained, as she attempted to navigate the cream that exploded with each prod of her fork. She was doing a remarkable job, all things considered.

But he watched as a small piece of cream caught on her upper lip; a blemish to the perfect peach of her skin. And he watched as her tongue darted out, one swift dainty movement to catch the offending mark. The slide of her tongue against her lip - for some reason it caught him. Just for a moment.

Damnit if Blair Waldorf didn't look just a little sexy eating dessert. He even wondered, briefly, if she was doing it deliberately - but her eyes were guileless for once, more focused on hastily wiping away her slip. Because Blair Waldorf didn't - couldn't - get cream on her face. Even for a second.

He gave his head a little shake and returned to his own dessert.

* * *

><p>Georgina caught Blair just as she seemed to be finishing - the waiters were clearing away the dessert plates. Perfect. So Chuck would leave, Georgina could ditch her own date, and the questioning could begin. She didn't have time to work out if her best friend was enjoying Chuck's company or not, though. Because Blair had already spotted her. And she didn't look pleased to see her.<p>

(Neither did Chuck, particularly, but Georgina wasn't bothered by that).

"Blair!"

She rushed over to greet the girl, and the two of them embraced.

"What are you doing here?" Blair bit in an undertone as she kissed Georgina's cheek.

"Brett's boring me to death," Georgie muttered back, "And I thought you could do with rescuing."

They separated, but Blair's smile wasn't a happy one. In fact, she didn't look relieved at all. Definitely not a good sign, Georgie reflected darkly.

"Georgina." Chuck made no effort to hold out his own hand or greet her. "What brings you here?"

"I love the Rose Room," she answered with a bright smile. "It was my favourite restaurant as kid. Blair's too, actually. We used to dream about coming here." She gave her friend a nudge. "Didn't we?"

But Blair wasn't in the mood for playing along. The fact that Georgina had arrived seemed to imply she didn't think Blair could be trusted not to - what? Jump into bed with the motherchucker? Blair could handle Chuck Bass, for God's sake. Georgina showing up made it look like she couldn't. Like she'd had to call in reinforcements, or something equally pathetic. No way was she giving him that satisfaction.

"Well." Chuck gave their table a nod. "Why don't you join us?"

Brett looked quite happy to sit down, much to Georgina's annoyance. This hadn't been the plan at all. And Chuck showed no sign of leaving any time soon.

"Actually," she paused, changing tacks. "I think there may be a slight...problem." She glanced at Blair pointedly. Blair ignored her. "There's someone downstairs," she pressed. "Someone it might be better to...avoid?"

"Who?" It was obvious Blair didn't believe her for a second.

"I saw Dan Humphrey in the foyer," Georgia sighed at last. "I think he's planning on coming up. I can't think of any other reason that he'd be here."

Dan fucking Humphrey? Chuck rolled his eyes and Blair tried not to groan aloud. That was _all _she needed.

"I'm sure you want to avoid a scene," Georgie went on. She gave her friend a look. "So maybe we should leave? I'll share a cab home with you."

Brett opened his mouth to protest, but Chuck had already beat him to it.

"And abandon your date?" His eyes gleamed. "I wouldn't dream of it. Don't worry, I'll get Miss Waldorf home."

Georgie's gaze narrowed angrily. "No, it's fine-"

Was Blair about to sit down and let them discuss her like she wasn't even there? She rose to her feet. "Don't worry," she said coolly. "I'm sure I'm quite capable of making my own way home." Georgina went to get up too, and was met with a deliberate glare. "Stay, Georgie. Enjoy your night."

Chuck smirked; he was already standing. "But since you came in my car, Blair, I'll have to drop you home."

He'd signed for the cheque and was helping her into her coat before Georgina could do anything about it. Blair could sense the girl's displeasure - and she ignored it. No one told her what to do. She would accept Chuck's ride home, leave him at the door, and never see him again. Georgie was an idiot to think she'd even consider doing anything else.

But she did note that Chuck seemed particularly smug as they rode the elevator down. She made a point of ignoring that, too. Let him think he'd won.

Besides - she had another problem to deal with when the doors opened. Because Georgie hadn't been lying. Dan Humphrey was, indeed, standing in the foyer.

And his heart sank as he saw Chuck with Blair. Though at least Blair seemed all right. The thought of her spending any time with Chuck Bass - let alone a dinner, by herself - horrified him. Which was why, when he'd overheard that there was a message for the man, he'd volunteered himself to take it.

Big Bill, one of Chuck's employees, had looked at him like he was a madman.

"Rather you than me. Boss said he didn't want any interruptions tonight - can't imagine he'll be happy to see you."

So they'd been glad to hand it over to the willing fool.

But Dan was delighted; not only did he have an excuse to follow Blair, and check that she was all right, but he had a legitimate reason to put an end to their date.

"Can't you take a hint, Humphrey?" Chuck drawled now. "She's not interested." He spared him a glance. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Dan swallowed. "Actually, I'm not here for Blair."

He could feel Blair watching him, eyebrows raised.

"I, uh, have a message for you. Donald Murphy needs to talk to you. Tonight."

Chuck's frown was instant. "What about?"

"Something about a problem with the contract-"

"Fine." Chuck cut him off without bothering to wait for the rest. Damnit. His eyes slid to Blair. The plan had been to take her to Gimlet and get her drunk - he wouldn't have time to do that now. He needed to see Donald as soon as possible. And he knew that once he dropped her home, he wouldn't get another chance. Not if she had her way.

This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go at all. He wasn't stupid enough to think he'd be able to trick her into bed - not in one night, anyway - drunk or not. But at the very least, he'd wanted to give her a good time. Leave her wanting more.

(Or at least see if there was any hint of the Blair Waldorf he'd once known left - if she was even capable of having a good time any more).

Dropping her home now would be tantamount to losing.

Unless...

He glanced at her again.

He didn't see what other choice he had.

"All right, Humphrey," he snapped. "Beat it."

Humphrey paused; his gaze had slid to Blair. Almost hopeful. "I was wondering, since I'm here, if you wanted me to take you ho-"

"It's fine," Blair interrupted swiftly. God, not again. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea. And she definitely didn't want an awkward car ride back with him; not so soon after that humiliation the other day. "Chuck's taking me home."

Dan's face fell visibly.

Chuck just rolled his eyes. Could the man be any more of a sap? He didn't bother looking back as he guided Blair into his waiting car. (What had Humphrey been planning on doing, anyway? _Walking _her back? Have her get the streetcar? Honestly).

And, Dan noted miserably, Blair didn't look back either. He could only pray that Chuck would drop her straight home. Maybe he would wait, secretly, at her penthouse. Just in case. Just to make sure.

Because he didn't trust Chuck Bass as far as he could throw him.

* * *

><p>"Victrola?" Blair echoed. "Uh, no. You're taking me home. Not to one of your seedy clubs." She called through to the driver. "Home, you hear me?"<p>

But Arthur answered to Chuck and Chuck alone.

"Relax, princess," Chuck sighed. He leant back quite comfortably against the seat of the car. "Victrola is on the way to your penthouse. I only need to stop off to do a quick bit of business-"

"Absolutely not," she fumed. "I am not hanging around waiting for you to finish another illegal deal."

He rolled his eyes. "Who says it's illegal? So quick to judge."

"No," Blair pulled a face back. "I just know you. I want to go home. Now."

"Sorry," he answered, looking anything but. "My car. And it'll only take five minutes. Stop stressing."

She folded her arms in outrage. Stressing? She didn't _stress._

"It better," she snarled.

She refused to speak to him, even after the car pulled to a stop outside a darkened building. Well, she thought nastily, that looked promising.

He slid out of the car himself, pausing to glance back in and down at her. "Are you coming or not?"

She just glared. "I'll wait in the car."

"Come on, get out."

"No."

"Why?" It _had_ to be designed to aggravate, the way he cocked his head and continued to hold the door open for her.

"I don't want any part in whatever it is you're about to do," she informed him. "And I don't want to be seen entering a place like that with you."

He sighed. "So you'd rather be seen sitting in an alley in my car?"

That did make her stop. For a moment, she just glowered at him. If only looks could kill. "Fine." She refused the hand he offered to help her out, brushing past him to enter the building first. "Five minutes, Bass. And then I'll drive your car home myself, if I have to."

He repressed a smirk as he followed her. Like either of them could actually drive.

* * *

><p>Blair folded her arms, tapping her foot to make her impatience as obvious as possible. Her face remained distinctly unimpressed.<p>

Although, actually - Victrola wasn't _too_ bad. As joints went. Not that she would ever, ever tell Chuck that. She'd actually been surprised, despite herself, once he'd switched the lights on and she'd glanced round. It was still a bar. But it was old - she hadn't expected that. And old in a good way. Oak and mahogany panelled. Even empty, there was an atmosphere to it.

If you liked that kind of thing.

Which Blair definitely didn't.

And Chuck's stupid associate had yet to turn up.

Chuck was leaning quite comfortably against the bar, helping himself to drink that she'd refused and watching her inspection.

"So, what do you think?"

She stopped looking round, fixing her gaze on him instead as she folded her arms tighter. "I think Donald Murphy needs to buy himself a watch."

He raised his eyes heavenwards.

"Well you'd probably be a lot less bored if you just accepted my offer." He lifted a champagne bottle. "This is designed to be shared, you know."

"I'm sure you can manage fine by yourself," she sneered. "I doubt it's stopped you before."

"You want to know a secret, Waldorf?" he enquired as he gazed over at her. "I bet if you stopped being you, just for a second, you might actually enjoy life for once."

"Maybe I'll remind you of that," she bit sweetly, "When I visit you in jail."

He grinned, placing a hand to his chest. "You'd visit me in jail? Waldorf, I didn't know you cared."

She rolled her eyes; but he could have sworn he'd seen the faintest hint of a smile brush her lips. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

"Seriously, though." He tilted the bottle of champagne in the light, almost inquisitive as his eyes flickered back to hers. "What _are_ you so scared of?"

The last time she'd had alcohol - she stopped.

"I'm not scared of anything," she replied brittly. "Alcohol is illegal, and I don't like breaking the law. It's there for a reason."

He set the bottle down on the bar. His hand remained on its neck, fingers caressing the glass. "But there's no one here to see you...except me." His mouth twisted. "And you obviously don't need to bother behaving in front of me." He looked at her. "Do you?"

She crossed her arms once more. "I don't want any." Her tone was cold.

They were silent for a moment. Then Chuck smiled again, faintly, as he recalled something.

"Do you remember when we broke into that liquor cupboard?" It had been Bart's, but he didn't want to remember anything to do with his old man. When prohibition had been nothing but a whimsy, a ridiculous idea that the government would surely never impose. "We had a bottle of scotch between us. And you were so sick; we both were-"

"Stop it." She was staring at him now, and he realised there was an odd look in her eyes. She just stared at him. "Stop, Chuck. Why are you doing this?" Her gaze hardened. "If you're so desperate to reminisce about the good old days, go talk to your buddy Carter."

He stared back. He'd only brought it up because he'd been going to ask if that was why she was so off alcohol now. He wasn't trying to _reminisce, _for fuck's sake. Chuck Bass didn't do nostalgia.

He should make a mental note that talking about their past obviously wouldn't help win her over either -

"Carter doesn't have our memories," he said instead. His voice was low, and she couldn't tell if he was mocking her or not. He surely was.

She studied him. "No."

She realised that she couldn't make him out at all, and that infuriated her. She excelled in reading people. But she couldn't tell, for the life of her, whether Chuck Bass was being genuine or not. Mainly because she so desperately wanted the latter. Chuck was so much easier to place as a villain. It made sense. Spouting bullshit about _their memories__- _he had to be up to something. She just hadn't worked out what, yet. Would he really go to all this effort just to sleep with her? Vain as she was, Blair wasn't entirely self-delusional. A one night stand with her wasn't worth all this. Especially not to Chuck, she knew.

So she just had to find out what he was really after.

She reached over and took the champagne bottle from his hands. And she poured it, steadily, into a glass. She watched him as she raised it to her lips. She wasn't scared of anything. She closed her eyes as the bubbles hit her tongue, and she felt his eyes on her as they exploded.

She hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since _then_. But she was in control of her life now, and she could control a few sips of champagne.

She opened her eyes again as she swallowed and set the glass down.

"Happy?" she enquired.

Actually, he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He hadn't anticipated _that_ at all. But happy? Oh, was he happy.

He raised his own glass. "To old friends?"

She smiled as she toasted back. "Old friends."

* * *

><p>Donald Murphy hadn't been what Blair was expecting. For one thing, he was old too. Old in a grandfatherly sort of way - not an oily criminal way. And from what she'd seen, his discussion with Chuck had seemed quite above board. Even boring; they'd been talking over the tiny details of one clause in their contract.<p>

She'd been wrong, too - she'd assumed Chuck was buying Victrola. But he was actually selling it. It wasn't like she followed Chuck's activities, but she was sure she'd never heard of a Victrola. And she realised, watching him, that he was obviously in love with the place. (Or as in love as Chuck could be with anything, she reminded herself). So why sell it?

She was watched with feigned disinterest as Donald shook Chuck's hand again and left.

"So." She looked at him. "Are you taking me home now? Finally? Riveting though that was."

He smirked. "Sure you don't want another drink?" He motioned the half empty champagne bottle. "There's plenty left."

"I'm sure." She was going to get to the bottom of Chuck's little plan, but she was sure drinking a bottle of champagne wouldn't do anything to help her.

He grinned as he picked up the bottle, opening his mouth to reply - but the moment was broken as the door swung open again, and a familiar voice filled the room.

"Ah. So this is where you've been hiding, Bass."

Blair's smile disappeared instantly.

Chuck turned, and he was no longer grinning either. "Baizen. What do you want?"

The other man simply shrugged, dropping onto a barstool. "I wanted to find out where you'd disappeared to. I thought we were supposed to be meeting in Gimlet?" He glanced around the room lazily. "What is this place, anyway?"

That did make Blair pause. Carter Baizen didn't know about Victrola? Chuck had entered into an enterprise without his sidekick? She was sure they ran everything together.

Chuck's eyes met hers, briefly, but his face was blank. And he gave a shrug in return. "Just an old bar. Murphy's buying it." He nodded at Blair. "Now's not a good time, Baizen."

Carter smirked. "Oh, right. Sorry. I'll leave you two...to it, then, shall I?"

Chuck rolled his eyes at his best friend, hand slipping to the small of Blair's back. "I'll see you later." He was already steering her out; and she allowed him to, even though she'd seen the smirk that had passed between them.

She was going to find out whatever the hell Chuck was up to.

And then she was going to destroy him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN Thanks so much for your reviews; I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I had great fun writing it :) And there will be more of Chuck's POV in the next chapter...**


	7. Chapter 7

Blair reached her room to find a blonde sprawled across her four-poster bed, snoring.

She repressed a sigh as she shifted Serena off her side, tucking her best friend's hair behind her face and rearranging the covers over her. She could smell the alcohol on the other girl's breath, cigarette smoke on her hair and expensive perfume. At least there was no scent of a man's cologne – and at least she was fully dressed. It seemed that she'd had a party of her own in Blair's absence.

(Another thing to blame Chuck Bass for, Blair reflected with a faint scowl).

She slipped out of her own clothes and into her nightdress, sliding into the bed with her best friend. Serena stirred a little at the warmth next to her side, reaching out across the mattress. Her blue eyes were hazy as they managed to focus on Blair, her smile vague and happy.

"B."

She pillowed her head on the other girl's, blonde hair tangling with brown as Serena hugged her close.

Blair sighed and let her. She lay in the darkness, surrounded by Serena's snuffly breathing – and perhaps it was the taste of champagne still in her mouth, forbidden, that made her last thoughts flit to a pair of aggravating dark gold eyes.

* * *

><p>Carter was waiting for Chuck by the time he arrived at Gimlet. Of course. The other man gazed at him over his glass, eyebrow cocked.<p>

His voice was little more than a drawl. "Care to explain what that was, Bass?"

Chuck just rolled his eyes.

Gimlet was a long way from winding down, despite the late hour – most of the men gathered round its tables and booths had only just started drinking, half-dressed dancers sprawled on their laps.

The thought crossed his mind that Blair Waldorf was probably already tucked up in bed. Which led to rather enticing images of her in a slip, her warm body against silk sheets - although her nightgown of choice was far more likely to be yet another Puritan creation, and she probably slept with the covers pulled right up to her chin. Still, those long lashes would be closed and her lips pursed or even half open...

"Bass?"

Irritated, Chuck shook away his fantasy of Little Miss Frigid and fixed Carter with a cold glare. "What the hell were you dong following me, Baizen? You couldn't have picked a worse time to interrupt."

He knew damn well why Carter had followed him – but whatever his suspicions, his friend couldn't prove anything about Victrola. Especially now Chuck had sold it.

"I wasn't aware there was anything to interupt. I thought you'd given up on Waldorf?" Carter reminded him idly. "Set your sights elsewhere?"

Chuck didn't like the knowing lilt to his voice.

"I changed my mind," he snapped. He grabbed the bottle of scotch from the table and poured himself a glass as he dropped down into their private booth.

As if Carter would let him leave it there. He was still regarding him over his own glass. "Why?"

Chuck shrugged. Why_ was_ he bothering with her, again? Because the Eva plan had failed?

No, he'd pursued that date because Bart had as good as said that little miss Waldorf was nowhere near good enough for him. Because he'd had the bitter burning urge, like always, to knock the disdainful look right off the old man's face. Just imagining his expression as he watched perfect, perfect Blair walk down the aisle to marry his failure of a son...

And he'd done it because it seemed he couldn't help himself around Blair. Call it a buried instinct from childhood; but the need to challenge her, to best her, seemed to kick in whenever she fixed those dark eyes on him. It irritated him, but he responded to it still.

Once he'd won, it would irritate him no longer. He was sure of it.

In fact, he realised that the thought of Blair Waldorf sinking to his level – of having her – gave him far more satisfaction than the thought of tricking another insipid debutant into marriage.

"Bart doesn't think she'd go for someone like me," he answered evenly.

Which, really, was all he needed to say.

Carte'r eyes narrowed in triumph. "What did I tell you?" he smirked. The old man had as good as set the bar himself. If Chuck wanted to prove himself worthy of his trust fund, then Blair Waldorf was the answer. "So how did the lovely date go?" he pressed. His amusement was evident.

Chuck thought of her little tongue darting out to catch the cream on her skin, and the champagne glass pressed against her lips, the whiteness of her throat as she swallowed. And of her gaze as it swept Victrola, and the sudden tightness in his chest as those brown eyes rested in all the same places his had when he'd first seen it – some kind of longing for her to see the same thing he did -

He shrugged again. His face was quite blank; because the longing had passed, as sudden as it came, like everything did – and it had meant nothing.

This was _Blair Waldorf, _for Christ's sake.

"It would have gone much better if you hadn't turned up."

Carter didn't bother apologising; he tilted his head instead. "You can't seriously think you would've got any action from her?"

"I would've got closer," Chuck snarled. "But you as good as drove her out of the room. I'm not going to convince her of anything if you keep popping up."

His best friend snorted. "What were you doing, revisiting the good old days?" His tone turned mocking; "'You bring me back, Blair – the innocent little Chuck I used to be! I swear, only you know the real me!'" He was laughing now, and Chuck suddenly wanted to hit him.

"I've never been innocent," he responded icily. "And neither has she."

For all that she pretended.

His tactic, therefore, would have to be to bring out the bad Blair. He doubted he'd be able to convince her he was anything _but _bad. So he'd drag her down to his level – perfect Blair and her perfect pale skin and those brown eyes that were nothing of the kind.

Yes, he liked that plan.

* * *

><p>Blair was rudely awoken by her maid's urgent voice.<p>

She sat up, frowning, as she smoothed her hair and tried to focus on what Dorota was saying. It wasn't like she'd even had that much champagne the night before, but she hadn't slept as well as she should have done. Dreams, she remembered - she'd kept having faintly disturbing dreams. Gold and black and champagne, a smirk -

She blamed Serena. The other girl was taking up most of her space, even now as she stirred.

"Miss Blair," Dorota hissed. "We have problem. Mr. Archibald is downstairs."

Blair's gaze shot straight to the blonde. Last night's make-up was still smudged on her face - she had yet to even wash. And the guilt would be written in every inch of those blue eyes. Serena had never been much good at lying.

Blair was fully awake now as she swung herself out of bed and reached for her robe.

"Why didn't you get rid of him?" she asked Dorota, irritated. She was already checking that her appearance was presentable.

"He refusing to leave."

That was not a good sign. Nate was usually the easiest person in the world to get rid of - if he was acting determined, something was definitely up.

"Make sure Serena stays here," she instructed the maid in an undertone. Then she fixed a smile on her face and headed downstairs.

Sure enough, Nate was standing in the foyer; and he did not look in a good way. Blair took in his rumpled blond hair and creased suit - yesterday's? - with some concern. This was not a good sign at all.

Still, she remained quite calm. "Nate. Can I help you?"

Nate wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "Where is she, Blair?" His gaze fixed hers, almost begging. But this wasn't pushover Nate - it didn't look like Blair was going to convince him to leave any time soon.

"You mean Serena?" she paused, frowning like his demand was susprising.

"She's not at home, and Lily has no idea where she is. So don't lie to me."

Damn. No, Blair definitely wasn't going to get rid of him. Sending him on a wild goose chase usually did the trick so well.

"Lie?" her frown deepened anyway. "What are you talking about, Nate? She's here, of course." She gave him a look - "And you're seriously relying on _Lily _to know Serena's whereabouts?"

But Nate didn't smile. "I want to see her."

Blair arched an eyebrow - now he was ordering her about in her home? "She's asleep, Nate."

"Where was she last night?" he demanded.

"Where do you think? She was with me, of course. We felt like pampering ourselves-"

"Don't lie to me, Blair." He just stared at her, and those blue eyes full of pleading were so like Serena's that she felt a little sick. "Please. Just tell me what's going on."

"Nothing's going _on_, Nate."

He shook his head. "I know you think I'm clueless, Blair. And I know you think you're protecting her - but this is _me." _He took a deep breath. "Look, things haven't been right since Eric..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, but he carried on. "She needed space. And I gave it to her. I thought I was helping her - but this isn't doing anything. I'm worried about her, Blair. You covering for her every time she gets drunk or-" he flinched, a little, "Goes to another man-"

"Serena hasn't been with anyone else," Blair interrupted very sharply. She'd made damn sure of that.

There was a brief glimmer of relief in Nate's eyes, but that look soon replaced it. "The point is, she's spiralling. And you know it." They both knew Serena. He took a step closer, voice low and insistent; "I don't want to be kept in the dark. I want to _help_ her, Blair."

Blair bit her lip. What did Nate think she was trying to do? (And deep down, maybe she should have known, really, that Nate would never judge _Serena_). He was right - this was Nate they were talking about. Perhaps only Nate knew Serena well enough to forgive her for going that far off the rails. Not even to forgive - to understand.

She could see it in his eyes now; he really did just want to help.

"Nate?"

The bewildered voice drifted from the top of the stairs.

Blair froze. Could Dorota do nothing right?

But it was too late - Nate was already bounding up the staircase, pushing past Blair as he reached his wayward fiancee and caught hold of her arms.

Blair stood in the foyer as she listened to Nate's firm, gentle voice; to Serena's half-asleep guilt-laden protests, and then to the sound of the girl's weeping and Nate's steady comfort, his own voice cracking - and finally, Serena's sobs muffled in his jacket and, even worse, the sound of kissing.

This was why Serena needed Nate.

Serena needed a partner who wouldn't judge her. Who knew her, better than anyone else. In all her daydreams of Nate as her own prince charming, Blair reflected, she'd never wanted him not to judge her. To forgive her. Because she'd wanted to be _beyond _judgement; beyond forgiveness. She'd wanted to be perfect - in his eyes, at least. And maybe that wasn't what true love was after all.

But Blair neither wanted nor needed true love. Serena might have made mistakes - but underneath it all, she was a good person. Blair wasn't. Mistakes could be forgiven. Inherent badness? Coldness, selfishness, vanity and the desire to hurt people? Nobody could love that.

So it was a good thing that all Blair wanted from marriage was money.

* * *

><p>Women were not supposed to have eyes coming out of their mouths. It was unnatural. It was odd. Quite simply, it was not art.<p>

"It's...extraordinary."

Chuck, watching concealed from a nearby pillar, glanced at the picture too. He repressed a snort. If Blair's prince honestly believed that was enthusiasm in her voice, he was an even bigger fool than Chuck had originally thought. Which was saying something.

Louis smiled as he stood beside her. "Isn't it?"

"You know what I really want to see, though?" Blair beamed back up at him. "Some of Picasso's more recent work. I hear it's amazing."

And not cubist.

Blair liked beauty and symmetry. She hated cubism. So she wasn't a fan of Picasso in general - but she'd been hoping they'd at least be able to boycott this part of the exihibtion and take a look at some of his newer art.

Unfortunately, Louis actually seemed to like this pretentious trash.

"It's just like Monsieur Braque says," he was explaining eagerly, accent thickening in his excitement, "Ze colours and ongles-"

Blair kept smiling and nodding as she tuned him out. How soon could they move past this part of the gallery? If she could distract Louis enough they might avoid the paintings on the other side and head straight for the blue door -

She stopped, abruptly, as she saw the figure leaning against the pillar. Hat tipped down, collar turned up at a jaunty angle like he owned the place. Even his nonchalance seemed planned to her. Her eyes narrowed - and he smirked over as he caught her gaze. He was watching her, quite unabashedly. His eyes flickered up her stockinged legs, over the stylish blue dress she wore, roving her waist and the pearls at her neck before he settled back on her face.

_I know_, he was smirking. _I know you're bored out of your mind. _

He was looking at her like it was a particularly amusing joke to him.

She glared and turned back to Louis as she fixed a brighter smile on her face. And she turned back to him just in time to catch his last sentence, which made her smile disappear straight away.

"Eva?" she repeated, sharp. Why the hell was he still banging on about that French trollop?

Louis didn't seem to have noticed. "...You really should come to France so zat ze three of us can go to Monsieur Braque's gallery - I know he would be glad to meet people who love his work as much as I do!"

Eva? Blair wanted to scream. He wanted to invite _Eva_ on their next date? What was _wrong _with him?

"I didn't know Eva was a fan of cubism," she snapped.

Louis looked a little confused. "But she was telling us all about it at that gala-"

Of course. Of course Eva liked cubism. She was a prostitue who'd probably never seen real art in her whole life. No doubt she loved Picasso's blue period too. And of course Louis thought it was _adorable. _

"Would you excuse me a moment?" Blair bared her teeth in some aproximation of a smile before she stalked off. She doubted Louis had even noticed - he was still gazing at the picture. Probably still thinking about Eva, too.

She made her way straight past the grinning Basstard, who followed her round the corner and out of the prince's eye sight.

"Having fun?" he drawled as he stopped her in her path.

"I was before you turned up." She gave him a look of disgust. "You're _following_ me now?"

Chuck just shrugged, glancing around the gallery. "I love Picasso. Almost as much as you do, I'm sure." He leaned a little closer with that still knowing smirk. "Great taste, your beau."

She rolled her eyes, but she wasn't even in the mood to defend the French moron. _Eva. _Ugh. "Was there something you wanted?" she sighed.

He smiled arrogantly down at her. "You're in luck. I'm here to rescue you."

Well, he reflected, he did enjoy that scornful glare of hers. Far better than the fake smile.

"Rescue me from what, exactly?" Her voice was cold with amusement.

Chuck glanced the length of the gallery again and gave a little snort. "You're aware that the next four rooms are all dedicated to the cubist movement? That's over a hundred paintings."

Her face was inscrutable, but he saw the brief glimpse of horror that crossed it at the mere idea. She'd soon folded her arms instead, brow arching. "And what makes you think I'd prefer to spend time with you?"

His grin was wide. "After how much you enjoyed our date?"

"It wasn't a date," she pointed out primly. "It was a dinner that you forced me to attend. And if you think I displayed signs of enjoyment at any point, then no wonder you have a different conquest every night." She smiled unpleasantly. "You're clearly completely oblivious to what a girl wants."

Chuck, however, paused in delight. Had Blair Wadorf just made an innuendo? Was she saying what he thought she was? Yes. Yes, she was. He took a step into her, forcing her to move back a little so that the space between her and the wall decreased. "I can assure you," he purred very softly, "I know exactly how to give a girl what she wants." He gazed down at her, mouth curving upwards as his eyes roamed her face. "I could show you, if you like."

She smartly pushed him off. "Enough, Bass. I'm going back to my date." She went to brush past him; he didn't move out of her way, but didn't try to stop her either.

He waited till she was nearly at the corner. "How about I come with you?" he called idly. "I haven't spoken to Louis since the gala. Maybe I can pass on Eva's address to him?"

Blair froze. He saw her shoulders tense, the stiffness of her spine as she slowly turned back to him. She just about managed to keep her fury at bay and her expression cool.

"Go on, then. I doubt he'll be interested once he realises exactly what she does for a living."

Chuck tilted his head. "Really? I heard Louis was a very generous man. A people's prince." He said it with particular relish. "I'll bet he loves playing the hero."

"Not to a whore," Blair hissed.

"Maybe." Chuck remained unaffected as he looked over at her., still smirking. "But is that a risk you're willing to take?"

* * *

><p>Blair sat in Chuck's car, lips pressed tightly together and her hands clenched on her lap. Louis had been a little perplexed when she'd claimed a headache, but she'd managed to put it down to the excitement of so much Picasso, and got him to promise to another date tomorrow night.<p>

And now she had no idea where Chuck was taking her, and no desire to ask.

She'd been tempted to storm off rather than get in the car with him; but had reminded herself that revenge was a dish served cold. She needed to find out what he was up to so she could scupper his plans like he'd scuppered hers. She had a plan of her own now.

Chuck watched her - and that damn smirk _still _lingered on his face - without speaking either. It was like he was waiting to see if she would crack. Well, he had a long wait coming. She gave him a sweet smile.

The car finally pulled to a stop; she even took his proffered hand climbing out, allowing her fingers to rest briefly in his. And then her brow wrinkled when she saw where they were.

"Central Park?" There was obvious disbelief in her voice as she glanced round at him. She couldn't stop herself. "Please don't tell me you brought a picnic."

That did make an actual smile twitch at the corners of his mouth, just for a second. "Please." As if. He nodded over at the park. "I just remembered your favourite place by a certain duck pond."

Her scowl was instant. "My favourite place when I was five, Chuck." Not this again. She couldn't stand him trying to win her over by bringing up their childhood. It just felt - wrong. It made her feel oddly vulnerable, and she hated it.

He gave her a little look - had she really changed that much? "It's still got to be better than that gallery," he pointed out at last. (He shook himself inwardly; of course Blair Waldorf hadn't changed. She was trying to spite him - and what difference did it make if she still liked a stupid duck pond or not? None.)

He held out his arm, concealing his surprise when she actually slipped hers through it.

"Lead the way, then."

He wasn't stupid enough to think she'd given in that easily - so what was she up to? And she wondered the same thing about him as they followed the path arm in arm. What exactly did he hope to gain by bringing her here? Arm in arm, and they couldn't have trusted each other less.

The truth was that neither of them had been to Central Park in years. But the duck pond, for some reason, Chuck remembered.

And he felt an odd twitch of deja vu as they stood at its edge, gazing out across the grey sky reflected in the still water.

Blair swiftly snapped him out of it.

"So." She glanced at him. "What's the plan now?"

His actual plan had been a quick visit to the pond to put her at ease – she'd always used to say that feeding the ducks calmed her - for the rooftop restaurant and then bar he was planning on taking her to later. But of course, she'd never let it be that easy. If anything, the duck pond seemed to be making her more on edge.

He cocked his head. He could be charming. "Well, what would you like to do?" There was that quirk to his mouth that suggested he was still making fun of her.

No one made fun of Blair Waldorf. He was going to pay. She considered it for a moment, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I want to get a row boat," she pronounced in the end.

Whatever he'd been expecting - it wasn't that. She saw his smirk darken for just a second. "A row boat?" he echoed in actual disgust.

She smiled narrowly. "Yes."

He glanced up at the sky. "You are aware that it's the middle of autumn?"

And her eyes slanted in satisfaction. "Then you'd better ask nicely."

* * *

><p>Chuck Bass could not believe what he was doing.<p>

He'd considered, approximately twenty times now, giving this whole thing up. Particularly when he glanced across and saw that smirk on her face.

Of course, it being November, there had been no one to row the damn boat for them. Chuck Bass did not do manual labour. Chuck Bass did not roll up the sleeves of his two hundred dollar suit to sit in a rickety wooden craft on a stupid pond and _row._

Chuck Bass was going to enjoy every second of her demise. The _her_ who sat at the other end of the boat, hands in her lap as she quite happily watched him make a complete fool out of himself. Oh, he was going to enjoy taking her down. The image of that serene face and perfect white body, horizontal and sweaty underneath him as he used her - as she knew he'd used her, degraded her because she wouldn't get any prince once she'd sunk to his level - that was the only thing keeping him going as he struggled to work the damn fucking _oars_.

"You should try moving them at the same time," Blair prompted sweetly.

"I think we should turn back now," was all he growled. "It looks like it's about to rain."

Blair smirked as she held up the umbrella that had come with the boat. Just one, naturally. "I think I'll be all right."

He was going to make her moan. He was going to have her _begging_, crying and screaming his name. He was -

Losing control of one of his oars. He let out a string of curses as it stuck in the bed of the pond, trying to jerk it out. He yanked too hard and lost the whole damn thing, snarling in anger as it drifted away from him.

"Well done." Blair's lip curled.

He shot her a look, and she was pleased to see the irritation replacing his usual cold smirk. That white expressionless face actually looked human for once.

"You should try getting that," she commented. "I doubt we'll get far with just one oar."

But it was too far out of his reach by now. "Give me your umbrella," he snapped, glancing at its hooked end. And, to top it all off, it actually had started to rain now. He could feel large drops sinking into the expensive fabric of his suit. His silk shirt would be _ruined._

Blair had noticed the rain too; her lips thinned as she clung to her only protection. She was not about to destroy her hair. "You're such a gentleman," she sneered back.

"Not for the rain," he snapped. He rolled his eyes in frustration; "Just give it to me."

Did Blair Waldorf let anyone order her around? Least of all, Chuck Bass?

"I don't think so." Her grip tightened on the handle and they glowered at each other.

She was right, though. Chuck Bass was_ not_ a gentleman. So he leant over and proceeded to try and pluck the umbrella from her grasp - she jolted back, enraged, and snatched it away just in time.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Just give me the-"

The boat rocked dangerously as he lunged at her again and she pushed back. But they were both too furious with each other to notice - he succeeded in grabbing part of the handle this time, and she yanked back even harder.

"You _pig_-"

"You stubborn, _stupid_-"

Their insults both turned to yells of shock as their final tug tipped the boat violently on its side, upheaving them both into the freezing water.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - So, so sorry for the delay in updates! Things have just been pretty crazy lately. But thank you so much for your lovely reviews! **


	8. Chapter 8

If this were one of her romance novels, Blair reflected savagely as she waded through the mud and finally grabbed hold of the bank, she would be swept out of the icy water and into her true love's arms while her dress clung enticingly to her in all the right places.

Instead, she had _Chuck Bass _for company, hoisting himself out of the water behind her. Instead, her dress was a filthy destroyed mess and she could already feel the mud caking in her hair. Instead, Chuck was muttering just as furiously as she was as he took in his ruined suit. And she was shaking with rage as she hitched up her skirt and proceeded to storm away with squelching shoes.

This was why she was glad she no longer read those ridiculous novels.

"Where are you going now?" she heard Chuck demand behind her.

"As far away from you as possible!"

She continued to stalk through the grass, beside herself as she realised that the Basstard was actually coming after her.

"You are aware that the exit is the _other _way?"

The rain was so thick now she could hardly see where she was going.

"No," she ground as she stomped - "The exit with your waiting car is the other way." And she had no intention of going anywhere with him.

"So, what?" he yelled after her with obvious scorn. His voice was still getting closer rather than further away. "You're going to _walk _home?"

"Walking in the rain," she snarled, "Is better than spending another second in your company."

She thought she heard him curse, call her stupid again. "And when you slip in the mud-"

His voice was cut off, abruptly, with a sharp noise.

Silence.

She kept going, refusing to turn round. She didn't care if he'd knocked himself out; in fact, if he was lying unconscious in the mud right now, then serve him right. She hoped he was face down.

Silence.

For God's sake.

Slowly, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder.

There was no sign of Chuck.

The words coming out of her mouth were definitely not ones Blair Waldorf was supposed to know as she turned fully and made her way back to where he'd been. She was going to find him and then kill him.

He was sitting in the mud, glaring. She could already see that his foot was twisted at an odd angle. The look on his face was laden with hate, though – so he was clearly very much still with it.

"Go away."

She stared down at him, folding her arms.

"Believe me," she snapped. "Nothing would give me more pleasure. But I don't want your dead body on my conscience."

He arched an eyebrow. "I twisted my ankle. I hardly think I'm going to die." But he noted that her lips were faintly blue, the wind lashing more rain into her already soaked frame. She looked about as cold as he felt. And the rain showed no sign of letting up.

"Can you stand?" she demanded.

"Of course I can," was all he bit as he went to climb to his feet. The attempt didn't last long; he sank back down, swearing.

"This is all your fault," he snarled. "You and your stupid row boat. How old are you, exactly? Seven?"

Blair's eyes narrowed. "I don't know, Chuck. You're the one who thought bringing me to a _duck pond _would be a good idea." If he hadn't wanted her to act like a child, then he shouldn't have treated her like one.

She looped her arm around his, ignoring his attempts to refuse it. He eventually gave up and leaned on her till he was upright. Just about. He felt her narrow shoulders tighten under his weight, heard her faint catch of breath. She didn't let go, though, twining their arms together to support him.

He was too angry and wretched to even make a smarmy comment.

And walking hurt like hell. He grit his teeth together, forcing himself onwards and trying not to lean on her; but she could _feel _the tightness of his jaw and his harsh breathing above her head. The park exit had never felt further away. And, worse, the rain was making the ground even more treacherous so that she nearly slipped a couple of times herself. Chuck's bulk next to her was the only thing that stopped her sliding on the mud just like he had. It was useless.

In the end she set her sights on a stone bridge that would at least provide shelter, and they managed to make their way under it.

Chuck sank to the floor, teeth still clenched. Blair glowered down at him. She was so sorely tempted to just leave him here. He was out of the rain, and Arthur would come pick him up in the end. She'd done more than enough.

"You can go now," Chuck stated shortly, as though reading her thoughts.

Oh, so he was dismissing her now? No thank you? No apology, even? She glanced back out at the rain. At least the bridge was dry. Sighing, she pressed her lips together and crossed her arms again.

"I'd rather wait till the rain stops." She gave him an ugly look, least he think she wanted in any way to be waiting with him.

He ignored her, of course.

So they sat in silence, the only sound the roar of the rain and, after a while, the faint chattering of their teeth. Chuck was so focused on stopping his own shivering that it took him a moment to realise Blair was doing exactly the same. He watched her try to clamp her jaw down, just like him, and straighten her shoulders.

He gave a little sigh of impatience. "I don't need you to nanny me, Waldorf. Go."

She was so angry, at that, that she forgot her coldness for a second.

"You think I want to be here?" she hissed. "If it wasn't for you and your stupid threats and your stupid interference, I could be having lunch with a prince right now."

"And you'd be bored out of your mind," Chuck pointed out flatly.

"Better bored," Blair seethed back, "Than with _you_."

"So leave. No one's forcing you to stay." He snorted. "It's not like I want you here."

At that, she wheeled on him. "Then why even make me come to begin with?" And he had to admit that even with a mud-streaked face, her glare was impressive.

But he paused. He'd forgotten; he'd been so angry about his foot and the rain and her damn stubbornness that he'd actually forgotten his plan. That wasn't supposed to have happened at all.

"You're right," he said after a moment. "I'm...sorry."

Like she believed _that _apology for a second. Even he could hear how odd it sounded. No, she wouldn't fall for that. He let out another sigh of frustration.

"You used to love feeding the ducks," he muttered at last. "It always made you feel better."

She stared at him. Just for a moment. Then her expression turned cold once more. "That was years ago, Chuck. I grew up." She continued to gaze flatly at him. "People change."

He looked back. "Even you?" Because Blair Waldorf didn't change. She might be denying that romantic soft spot of hers, but she was as devious and spoiled as she'd always been – and under that perfect veneer, he knew there was a bad girl just waiting to come out. He was banking on it.

Her lips thinned in answer. "_You_ changed, didn't you?"

She shook her head before he could answer – but he suddenly found himself wondering what she meant. Wasn't she the one who kept telling him he was disgusting, like it was nothing new? He may have added women and illegal substances to his habits since he was five – but he was still Chuck Bass. He'd always been _bad_. And he'd always known it. He thought she had too. Or perhaps this was another of her delusions? Perhaps she'd got so good at playing the good girl that she'd started to think it was who she actually was. And perhaps that he had once been...good, too.

Well, she was wrong.

"I bet I can prove to you that you're still the same Blair Waldorf," he murmured now. There was a hint of challenge in his voice that she caught immediately.

Her mouth pursed. "I highly doubt it."

He leaned his head back against the stone wall as he regarded her. "Really?"

"Really," she sniped.

But his mind was in overdrive now. Yes – this could be perfect. "Look," he sighed. "I understand that you've set your sights on a prince and that my...pursuit, isn't exactly convenient for you at the moment."

"Your perception never fails to amaze."

He carried on like she hadn't spoken. "So I propose a deal."

She watched him carefully, eyes slanting. "I'm listening." She doubted she wanted to be a part of any deal he was about to suggest_._

"If I can prove to you that I know you better than anyone-"

Her scoff echoed around the bridge.

"-Thus proving that you're the same Blair Waldorf I've always known – then you agree to spend the night with me."

She stared at him in actual disbelief.

(But was that it, she wondered? Was he doing all this, after all, just to sleep with her? Impossible.)

"I haven't finished," he smirked, though the dark tinge to his lips against his even paler face distorted it more than usual. "And don't pretend it wouldn't be the best night of your life. I highly doubt any prince you catch will be able to satisfy even half your needs." She looked about to hit him, so he carried on; "If I fail, then I'll admit defeat and leave you alone forever."

"How about you just leave me alone forever anyway?"

He grinned darkly. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Her lip remained curled, but she was thinking. Chuck Bass wouldn't go away – that much was true. But if she agreed to this ridiculous deal, then she'd have a chance to get closer to him and figure out what he was really up to. He'd also be less likely to keep interrupting her time with Louis if he thought he was getting his way.

There was no real chance of him winning the bet in the first place. And even if he did – it wasn't like she would actually keep to her word. Hopefully by then, she'd be married to Louis anyway, and there'd be nothing Chuck could do about it.

"And what exactly counts as 'proof'?" she enquired.

He watched her closely. That wasn't an outright no. "If I can show you I know something no one else knows. Something...important."

For a split second she tensed; but then she realised he couldn't possibly be talking about _that_. She had a sneaky supsicion he had no idea what he was talking about. Well, then she was definitely onto a winner.

"There would have to be a time limit," she said at last. "I can't have you trying to prove your absurd theory for the rest of my life."

His eyes gleamed. She was agreeing. She was actually going to agree to the bet.

"All right." He nodded. "One month."

She would be at least engaged to Louis by then, she reflected. Could she stand a month in Chuck's company? If it meant destroying him at the end, then probably.

She held out her hand.

He couldn't quite suppress his grin, or the glint in his eye, as he enclosed her icy fingers in his.

"You have yourself a deal."

* * *

><p>Arthur had served Chuck Bass for a long time.<p>

So he didn't comment when his employer finally emerged from the park limping, shivering, covered in mud, and leaning on his equally muddy female companion. He'd never known Mr. Bass to willingly destroy one of his suits, which made him wonder exactly how wild his latest conquest had been. She'd seemed like such a proper young lady.

But it was not his business to judge.

He could hear Chuck's grumbling and the girl's snapped replies as they slid into the back of the car, and reflected that it was unlike Chuck to keep a girl around long enough to quarrel with her.

"Home, Arthur."

"If you think for one second that I'm going to your disgusting suite-"

"I thought we had a deal?"

"I never said anything about going home with you."

Arthur pulled the car smoothly away from the park and onto the road directed by his employer as the two of them continued to bicker.

"Do you want to explain to your mother why you look like you've been drowned and dragged through a hedge backwards?"

Arthur wondered if Mr. Bass had glanced at his own reflection yet.

The girl ignored the insult, though. "How do you know my mother's back today? You know, there's nothing attractive or flattering about _spying_, Bass."

Arthur decided to be a good driver and tune out the rest of their argument until they reached their destination.

* * *

><p>Blair stood in the middle of Chuck's suite with her arms wrapped tightly round herself. The room was as decadent and nouveau riche as she'd expected; all dark velvets and silks with deep red and a top to bottom window that overlooked the other skyscrapers. She told herself she didn't want to sit anywhere for fear of contamination. God only knew what he'd done on any of these surfaces. The floor. The polished tables. The sofas. The large shiny plane of the grand piano - she stopped her thought process, abruptly.<p>

What was wrong with her?

But far worse was the truth; she didn't want to sit anywhere because she was painfully aware of just how bedraggled and filthy she was. Her clothes were still soaked. She'd felt disgusting enough in the plush leather of his car. And to be standing in Chuck Bass's suite and actually feel dirtier than everything in it - it was just too much.

"It's not contagious, you know."

She was so on edge that she jumped at the sound of his voice, instantly hating herself for it as he sauntered back in with the aid of a stick. Of course, he was completely at ease. He glanced ar her with a quirked brow.

"You're not going to turn into a whore just by sitting in the same place as one."

Ugh, he didn't even try to deny it. Of couse he didn't. And as always, he seemed amused by her disgust. He did think that there was something almost fetching about the evident discomfort of her stiff muddy figure. A smirk still played about his face as he gestured towards the bathroom.

"Feel free to take a hot bath. The water's ready."

She glowered at him, even though the thought of a hot bath made her body ache with longing. But the thought of using Chuck Bass' bathroom -

He rolled his eyes. "It was cleaned this morning. And I'd rather not have to put up with your complaints after you catch pneumonia."

Her glare was cut off by a knock at the door.

"That's the doctor for my ankle," he pointed out. "Do you really want to be standing here when he comes in?"

She hugged her arms a little tighter, raising her chin. "I don't have any...other clothes," she snapped at last.

His smirk widened, and she swore she was going to kill him. "Don't worry, princess," he assured her. "There's a robe you can wear while I have your dress cleaned."

Oh, God was she going to kill him.

"I'm not coming out of the bathroom until it's cleaned," she hissed, and turned on her heel. He watched her slam the bathroom door behind her, firmly locking it. Of course. He was still grinning as he let the doctor in.

* * *

><p>Almost an hour later, Blair was feeling a little more like a human being again. It had taken a lot of scrubbing to get the mud out of her hair and out from under her nails, but she had to admit that Chuck had a nice bathroom. And a good array of soaps. She'd even caught herself relaxing in his large tub at one point - before she'd remembered herself and sat up straighter. She couldn't afford to relax. Not here. Not even for a second.<p>

She'd taken one of the fluffy white robes and wrapped it tightly around her body; she stood in front of the mirror now, brushing her still drying hair. The problem was, she'd have to leave the safety of the bathroom to hand over her dress for cleaning. But at least the robe was thick and slightly too big for her so that it covered every inch of her skin.

Still.

Still she felt vulnerable as she carefully unlocked the door and eased it open, sticking her head round first.

"Chuck?"

No answer.

She peered into the longue. It was empty. Quietly, she slid out and into the room; but there was definitely no sign of him. The doctor had been and gone. Perhaps Chuck was still cleaning himself up.

And as she crossed the room, a thought struck her. This would be the perfect opprtunity to do some investigating of her own. Her gaze roamed over the furniture, but there was nothing of much interest here. A few antiques or collectors items, ash trays...she paused, considering the doors before her. She was sure she could hear water running from one of the rooms - Chuck had to be in the bathroom still.

She opened the first door, creeping past an obviously unused kitchen and spare bedroom before she hit the jackpot. Chuck's study.

It was a neat room, taken up by a large mahogony desk and a few shelves lined with books. She scanned the papers on the desk briefly - but there weren't many; mainly bills or memos. None of which meant much to her. Clearly he kept the important documents in the drawers under the desk.

She eased herself round the other side, crouching to reach the drawers properly. The first one was locked. Damnit. The rest were too.

Despite what she'd told Chuck, she did remember breaking into Bart's liquor cupboard. It had been Chuck's idea. He hadn't said as much, but she'd known he wanted to get the old man back for forgetting his birthday again. (She also remembered the trouble they'd got into afterwards; the blank look on Chuck's face at Bart's cold disappointment - but she brushed that away now.) More importantly, that little experience had taught her how to pick locks.

She needed a hairpin, but she'd lost all of hers courtesy of her dip in the pond. She glanced round the shelves, wondering if there was anything there she might be able to use. Something long and thin -

She stopped, frowning, as an object caught her eye. It wasn't long or thin or remotely helpful to her task. But she moved towards it anyway, frown deepening as she made it out more clearly.

It was a picture. She'd noticed it because it was so out of place among the art deco paintings of girls in various strategic poses that lined the rest of his walls. This one was unframed and propped against one of the shelves. She'd noticed it because she knew it - not the little oil painting itself, but the scene. Or something like it. It was of the New York skyline in a thunderstorm.

"What are you doing?"

She snapped round, painting instantly forgotten. How the hell did he keep sneaking up on her?

Chuck raised his eyebrows. "Snooping around, Waldorf?"

She did make quite the picture in that pure white robe, hair damp and face bare as those wide brown eyes sharpened in search of an excuse. Still she didn't falter for a second.

"I was looking for you, actually. My dress needs cleaning. Immediately." She thrust the muddy bundle into his hands. She noted that he'd changed into a clean shirt and smelt faintly of cologne - and then was irritated with herself for even noticing. Though she supposed anything was better than that mud. "It's a hundred percent silk," she instructed him as he took the dress. "So it needs-"

"I have one of the best dry cleaning services in New York," Chuck interupted drily. "They can handle it." The expression on his face told her that he didn't believe for a second that she'd been looking for him. Well, he couldn't prove a thing. Not that she'd found anything worth knowing anyway.

For a second, her eyes flickered back to the painting. Was it possible -

He followed her gaze, and his own brow furrowed for a second. Then the look was gone. No, it wasn't possible. She gave herself an internal shake.

"I thought I'd order room service while we wait for your clothes," he announced.

Her face darkened instantly. "I'm not hungry."

He just rolled his eyes. "I insist. As I made you miss lunch with his highness." His gaze swept the study. "Unless I'm interrupting something here, of course-?"

He was rewarded with a scowl. "Fine. Maybe a salad."

* * *

><p>"This isn't a salad," Blair pointed out.<p>

She was sitting cross legged on his sofa, still in her robe, mouth pursed at the tray of food Chuck had ordered. He took the seat opposite her, reaching for his own knife and fork.

"No."

Her face remained unimpressed as she studied the contents in front of her. But he saw it - the faint twist of surprise as she noticed the macaroons. She glanced up at him. "What is this, exactly?"

His smirk was satisfied. "Your favourite foods."

She realised he'd even arranged for her favourite poulet roti. She narrowed her eyes up at him. "Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I like macaroons."

"And that orangle blush is your favourite flavour?"

He was far too pleased with himself for her liking. And hadn't he tried to prove this already with those stupid eclairs at the Rose Room? "Just because I haven't developped an entirely new palette and you happen to remember a few of my preferred dishes-"

"And drinks," he interupted smoothly, lifting a small white jug. "Austrian hot chocolate with whipped cream and a spoon of cinammon?"

Ok, it wasn't _that _surpising that he remembered. He'd always had a very good memory for detail; and she'd used to have Dorota prepare the same afternoon tea for her every day. Really, she should pity him for holding onto to such useless bits of information.

"Food doesn't prove anything. You don't _know _me because you remember what I used to eat."

He just smirked again.

She picked up her cutlery with deliberate reluctance and started on the chicken. She was, in fact, starving - he was sure of that - but she kept up the act of very small bites as long as he was looking. Unfortunately the food was a little too delicious to make it all that convincing.

They ate in a silence that was almost companionable; Blair couldn't help it. She was warm and clean, and gradually filling up as something verging on sleepiness kicked in. It was hardly surprising, given the day she'd had. And Chuck seemed oddly mellow too - she could sense his faint amusement, but he was enjoying the meal as much as she was.

Still. She had to keep her wits about her. She picked up a macaroon as her gaze shifted to the sky outside. It was darkening as the rain started up again, but right now she was too warm to mind all that much. She had to admit that she liked rain - as long as she was on the inside. Something about its rattle against the buildings...she realised that her thoughts were drifting dangerously back in the direction of that damn painting.

Luckily Chuck picked that moment to ask her if she wanted a drink.

She turned back to him with a suspicious frown. "I'm fine with the hot chocolate. Thank you."

She recognised that light in his eye, that twist to his mouth. "I mean a proper drink."

"I'm fine."

"Still scared?"

She put down the steaming cup. "Of what, exactly?"

He just gave her another knowing look. She opened her mouth to retort, annoyed, but he cut her off. "Why don't you let me see if I can guess your favourite?"

"Well," she sneered, "Since I don't actually drink, you might have some trouble."

He leaned a little closer into her; close enough for her to catch the smell of soap on his skin, oddly familiar. "So if I come up with something that you like, it will prove I _know _your taste." He grinned, and she wasn't sure she liked being so close to that smile. "Not just that I remember."

She refused to move back this time. He wasn't going to see that he had any kind of effect on her. "You can try, I suppose."

He was already on his feet and heading to the drinks cabinet with another smirk over his shoulder.

She sighed as she set down her cup and moved over to join him. She wasn't stupid enough to let him prepare an alcoholic drink for her without seeing exactly what went in it. He watched as she took the stool by the sideboard, taking care that her robe still covered all of her legs.

"This should be interesting," she muttered sarcastically. He was already pulling out bottles and getring to work. If there was one thing Chuck Bass knew, it was drink.

* * *

><p>All right, perhaps the drink wasn't too bad.<p>

But Blair was in control. She was on her third glass, and she was going to make damn sure she didn't drink any more. It was just a shame it was so delicious. Of course Chuck Bass would know how to make the perfect cocktail.

She'd attempted not to let him know as much, but couldn't stop herself from sipping her way through the first glass. And she didn't want him to think she was in anyway intimidated by him. Plus, if he thought she was a little drunker than she actually was, he might let his own guard down. Just a little.

She took a sip of the liquid, relishing in its kick as she regarded him over the top of her glass.

"All right." She was still perfectly upright on her stool; he was leaning on the sideboard. "Next."

He tilted his head as he considered. "Your favourite colour is blue."

"Yours is purple," she countered before he started thinking he'd won. The idea was simple - if she could answer the same questions about him as he could her, then they didn't count as insightful. Then they were the kind of questions anyone would know the answer to.

(And, she knew, it was a way of getting him to talk).

"Queen Victoria is your role model. In her younger years, naturally."

She frowned a little, at that. "I don't have a role model." Role models were for silly little girls and their childish ambitions. "And yours is Cassanova."

"But she's everything you strive to be. Graceful. Poised. Powerful." He shook his head. "And I don't have a role model either." Role models were for fools weak enough to let someone else dictate their lives.

"But you'd like to think you're as suave and cunning as he is," she shot back.

He just smirked.

He watched her as she rasied the glass to her lips again, the faint look of pleasure on her face as she swallowed before the smooth indifference replaced it once more.

"You pretend you don't like alcohol because you want people to think you're a good girl...when actually, you love it."

Her eyes snapped to his. "I do not!"

He just raised an eyebrow at near empty glass. She narrowed her eyes and set it down, firmly, placing her hands back on her lap.

"And you're a borderline alcoholic." Her tone was sweet.

He shifted in, closer to her, leaning on the side right in front of her so that her gaze was level with his. He could smell the freshly washed scent of her hair - his own shampoo. It uncurled something inside him, made him feel oddly...possessive. She smelt of him.

"Maybe you're not as perfect as you make out."

Her breath stilled for a moment; for a heartbeat her dark eyes locked on his, liquid. She suddenly felt absurdly terrified for no reason she could name - like she was drowning and all she could see was the darkness of his gaze.

It took the sudden rumble of thunder outside to snap her to her senses.

She jerked her face away, breaking their contact, and was already on her feet. "If all you're going to do is insult me, Bass, then I think it's time I left." She snatched up her bag. "My dress should be clean by now."

Chuck paused, regarding her. He'd hit a nerve - which was what he'd been planning to do. But he realised he hadn't quite planned for her to react like this. Something about the way she'd looked at him -

She scoffed before he could respond, and made for the door.

"I'll call myself a taxi."

* * *

><p>He'd had Arthur drop her back, of course. And now he was sitting in his empty suite listening to the rain outside, the stool next the one she'd sat on and a fresh glass of scotch in his hand.<p>

Her glass remained on the side; if he stared, he could make out the imprint of her lips of the surface.

He should have been celebrating - she might have run away, but he'd got her to lower her inhibitions. Even if just for a second. And Blair Waldorf running scared was a good sign - it meant he'd got her.

Considering how dire things had been a few hour ago (his foot still throbbed, damnit) they were far better now.

Except he kept thinking of that look in her eyes and the way she'd glanced at that_ painting_. The painting he was sure wouldn't mean anything to her. It meant nothing to him, he reminded himself. Why had she even noticed it? It was ironic, really; he always took such care locking away his papers - PI reports, illegal contracts - and yet _that, _of all things, had caught her eye.

It kept scraping against his consciousness. Scotch still in his hand, he headed for the study - and he picked up the small painting without looking at it and dropped it into the bottom drawer, under a stack of papers, face down.

It meant nothing. And that look in her eyes? It meant that he was winning.

He downed his scotch in one and drew the curtains, blotting out the thunderstorm outside. Then he picked up the phone. He was in need of distraction, and he knew the perfect blonde and redhead to pass the time with.

Her glass still sat on the side, and he ignored it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Thank you so much for all your amazing reviews; I'm so glad people are enjoying this! **


	9. Chapter 9

"Where are you going now?"

Chuck spared Carter a glance. "I've got a run-in to stage."

He'd managed a few more dinner dates with Blair since their day in the park – even arranged a strategy for them. He'd started pulling his car up next to her as she was leaving society events – crashing them only proved a waste of time since he could never get her alone – and, after many eye rolls and a lot of grumbling on her part, she would reluctantly climb in and order Arthur to take them to a restaurant where they weren't likely to be seen. By anyone.

Getting her to agree to dinner, however, was only the beginning of the challenge.

He hadn't seemed to be making any progress with her since that evening in his suite. Her guard was back up. She contradicted everything he said, smile always inscrutable and manners perfect, even as she insulted him – and any information he felt he gleaned, he ended up having to give her back about himself. Which wasn't how it was supposed to go at all.

She definitely didn't seem to be falling for him, in any case. And she was careful to limit physical closeness to absolutely none, and refused to drink or go anywhere with him afterwards. Chuck was all too aware that the month was ticking away.

"Getting desperate, are we?" Carter arched an eyebrow. They were both in Chuck's suite, glasses littering the room and some girl's underwear abandoned on the floor.

Chuck adjusted his tie, running a hand over his hair. "What are you talking about? I was with her last night."

His best friend just snorted. "And you were back by eleven." He lifted the newspaper he'd been scanning. "According to the gossip column, she's been spotted everywhere with that prince. Sounds to me like you're losing."

Chuck rolled his eyes as he fastened his cufflinks. "And if you look more closely at those pictures, you'll see that she's practically asleep in all of them."

"I don't think any girl requires her prince to be charming if he's gonna make her a princess."

Chuck ignored him, focusing instead on his reflection. "I can get rid of Louis."

"Till the next prince comes along."

And at that, Chuck rounded on him. "I've got it handled, all right? She'll be mine by the end of the month."

Carter looked anything but convinced. "Whatever." And, as Chuck was on the way out of the door; "Make sure you're back for the game tonight."

The other man pulled a face, because the implication was clear. His meeting with Blair wouldn't go into the night. "Maybe I'll be busy."

His tone was curt, but Carter just smirked and shook his head. As if.

"Just be there. Trust me - you won't want to miss this game."

* * *

><p>Georgina glanced at the blonde girl in front of her with barely concealed disinterest. Too pale, too obviously desperate.<p>

"Thank you, Ginny."

"It's Jenny-"

"We'll consider your application." She bared her teeth in an icy smile before the girl could get another word out. She had no intention of considering the pathetic Brooklynite for anything. Let alone for the Foundation she and Blair chaired. The decisions were meant to be jointly made – but Blair was busy. Yet again. So Georgina has been left to do this year's screening of potential new members herself.

"Is that a _drawn on_ stocking line?" Her gaze zeroed in on the next potential; she didn't even bother with manners. "Out!"

Honestly. The quality of applicants just seemed to decrease by the year. And Georgie was bored without Blair at her side to mock and despair of the morons.

She snapped at the maid to shut the doors; she needed a break.

Once alone in the room, she rose and headed for the drinks cabinet. She helped herself to spirit straight from the bottle, reapplying her dark lipstick afterwards and readjusting her cream dress. Blair's absence was getting to her. She was sure the other girl wasn't with the prince every time she went out, despite what she said. Which begged the question of exactly _where_ she was.

Georgie had attempted to follow her a couple of times, but she was too good.

She wasn't with Serena – the blonde had recently recommitted to her golden-haired fool of a fiance and hadn't needed saving for almost two weeks. (Which was probably all it would last anyway).

Georgie had thought that telling Nate exactly what his precious Serena had been getting up to, all those late nights, would be enough to make him call off the engagement. She hadn't planned on it making them _closer_, for God's sake. Because Blair getting back with Nate would have been so perfect. Not only would it have kept her mind off Chuck – it might even have driven a wedge between her and Serena.

But no.

Nate was too infatuated with the blonde, and too stupid to dump her for going out drinking every night like any normal man would.

How could Blair even be friends with them? She liked to manipulate fools just as much as Georgie did; so why was Serena van der Woodsen the one exception?

Georgie had never liked Serena. Even as children, she'd seen a kindred spirit in Blair that was marred only by her bubbly best friend. Georgina had thought she'd be the perfect antidote to Serena's dumb exuberance. A scheming partner for Blair. Someone to stir up trouble with. Someone as crafty and mean as she was – someone, finally, who got it. Who wasn't _good, _like all the other children were supposed to be.

Except Blair already had Chuck for that.

Chuck, who'd never liked or trusted Georgie – right from the beginning – and refused to let her in on any of their little schemes. Who ignored her. Who tried to make Blair do the same.

Well. Georgina had won in the end.

Chuck had gone off with Carter Baizen, and Blair had ended up falling for golden boy Nate. Georgie couldn't even remember which had happened first – which had been the catalyst for which – but the end result was the same. Chuck and Blair had drifted apart, and Georgina had obtained a new best friend.

And now all of that stood to be ruined.

Why the hell had Chuck picked now to regain his interest in Blair? He was obviously working some kind of angle; but _what_? And more importantly – was Blair falling for it?

Ordinarily Georgie would have said she'd never be that blind; but where Chuck Bass was concerned, she was pretty sure Blair had a weakness. They were too similar. Too much shared history. God, she hated Chuck Bass. Not the seething kind of hate that led to great sex, either; more a cold, intense dislike. He ruined everything.

So she'd just have to ruin him first.

"Anyone wearing _lemon_ can leave. Immediately. And you, blondie – that green's hurting my eyes." The doors swept open and Blair entered, a look of distaste on her face. "What are they thinking?" She sighed as she seated herself next to Georgie. "This year looks even worse than usual."

Georgina rolled her eyes. "Then it's a good thing you're finally here. Where have you_ been_?"

Blair frowned a little, reaching for the tea. "I was with Louis."

"Really? That's the second time in two days."

At that, the other girl narrowed her eyes. She'd actually been with Chuck yesterday, rather than Louis - she suspected Georgie knew, but it wasn't like the girl could prove anything. And she had no right to question her anyway. "So the plan is working."

A timid knock on the door interrupted them. "Miss Waldorf? Miss Sparks? This young lady here claims that her dress is _buttercup_, not lemon-"

Neither of them bothered to glance up; "Out!"

Shaking her head, Blair returned to her tea. "I think we're getting closer to a proposal. Louis wants to introduce me to his mother."

Things were moving forward nicely; she'd spent a perfectly charming day with the prince, and he seemed to be falling for her. He was sweet and attentive – he laughed at her stories and gazed into her eyes and offered to buy her whatever she wanted. (And he'd stopped mentioning that little French harlot, thank God). She couldn't have asked for a better match.

"How exciting," Georgina muttered. "Tea with his _mother_."

Blair shot her a scowl. "_Princess_ Sophie of Monaco," she pointed out. It wasn't like Georgie had lunch with royalty every day. "If this goes well-"

"Then you'll be married to prince charming and you can live a perfectly lovely, boring life in a country half the size of Manhattan. Hurray."

Blair stared at her in disbelief. What the hell was Georgina's problem? This was the _plan_. And – boring? Since when did boring come into it? This was about money.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked coldly.

Georgie rolled her eyes again. "Yes. You can do better." With a fiance that wouldn't require her moving half way across the world. How could Blair even consider leaving New York?

Her best friend's lips had thinned dangerously. "Better than a prince?" She made a half scoff. "You were the one who _helped_ me make this happen. Remember? I didn't hear you objecting before."

It was true – Georgie had helped. Because in all honesty, she hadn't considered Louis as a real candidate. She'd just been happy to plot her friend's next move, next date, next sabotage – like they always did. She hadn't thought it through; hadn't realised it would mean that she didn't get to see Blair anymore. Why couldn't she find a suitor in New York? Better still – why couldn't she find Nathaniel? Sweet, clueless Nate, who never interfered in any of their schemes or demanded anything of her.

"Louis is dull," Georgie said now, frankly. "I'm bored just hearing about him. To be honest, I'm worried you'll become dull by marrying him. And I don't have _dull_ friends."

Blair set down her tea cup. Her face was white with anger as she rose to her feet.

"Then I suppose we can't be friends anymore."

And with that, she stalked out.

* * *

><p>"Well." It was with particular relish that he watched her snap down the street, heels clicking and her coat drawn even tighter than usual. Woe betide the passerby who dared even catch her eye. "Someone's in a good mood."<p>

She neither stopped nor looked surprised to see him, dark hair whipping behind her as he fell easily into her pace.

"Of course you're here." Her teeth were gritted. But not at him, he realised.

"Can I ask what's got you into such a state?"

"I'm not in a state." Her tone was like ice.

Then she came to an abrupt stop – and had she been anyone else, he was sure she would have cursed. But Blair Waldorf did not curse. She inhaled instead, so sharp it nearly cut the wind. He followed her gaze – because Eleanor Waldorf was making her way to the Waldorf building, the doorman behind her laden down with shopping bags.

Chuck glanced back at Blair with another smirk; but she was shoving him, suddenly, round the corner and out of her mother's eyesight. He found his face right next to hers and grinned – her hand was still on his coat from where she'd pushed him. "You know," he murmured, "If you wanted to get me alone-"

"Shut up." She released him and flattened herself against the wall, sighing. Why did Eleanor have to come back early? The last thing she needed on top of everything else was an afternoon with the woman. She'd been driving Blair crazy. _I notice Nate hasn't called. What are you doing wrong? You really need to get a move on -_

"So today's not the day we have dinner with mother dearest?" Chuck enquired.

Blair just shot him a look; it made his smirk widen. They were alone in the little side street now.

"Well then." He leaned against the wall with her, one hand next to her face like he was trapping her next to him. Their breath rose in the cold air, clouds that mingled together as he leaned close enough for her to smell his cologne again, that hat still tipped over his eyes. "If going to your penthouse is out of the question..."

She pushed past him with a noise of disgust, checking that her mother was safely in the building.

And this time she climbed into his waiting car without him even needing to ask.

* * *

><p>Usually, she told Arthur exactly where to go. But now she just glared mutinously out of the window, hands pinched on her lap. Her face was cold – devoid even of the deliberate disgust that usually made its appearance around him.<p>

He glanced at her, watching her seethe. "Italian or French?"

"I'm not hungry."

It was almost a snap; he arched a brow.

The rules were usually very clear. It was dinner or nothing. Still, this might work in his favour.

"Straight to mine, then?" He was looking for a reaction – he didn't think she'd actually agree.

"No."

But she didn't even look at him, eyes still fixed on the streetlights outside. She'd had a lovely afternoon. She had. The plan was all falling into place. So why did she feel so..._frustrated_?

She heard Chuck tell his driver something; she ignored it. She wanted to get away from Georgina. She didn't want to be anywhere near her mother. Serena was with Nate – and they still made her feel a little too sick, together, to want to spend any real amount of time with them. Just because she was happy for them didn't mean she wanted it rubbed in her face. Sick. She was sick of all of it, she realised. And she really shouldn't have been. Wasn't she on the cusp of getting everything she wanted?

The car eventually pulled to a stop; only then did Blair glance round, frowning as she realised the street they were on looked vaguely familiar.

"Where are we?"

Chuck spared her a glance of his own. "Victrola."

He didn't really know why he'd picked here, of all places. He wanted her to forget about the damn thing – hell, _he _wanted to forget about it. It wasn't even his any more, and it still stung.

But he hadn't wanted to take her to Gimlet. Not while Carter was there. And this, at least, was the one place where Carter wouldn't be. No one either of them knew would be here – except Murphy, since he owned it now.

Chuck was already heading out of the car. He didn't look to see if she was following; in all honesty, he was half waiting for her protests. But when he stopped at the door, she was at his side. She said nothing. But she looked at him, briefly, before she brushed past him and into the building first.

* * *

><p>"Oh no. No, no, no."<p>

Georgina smiled. Carter had been easy to spot in his usual place by the bar. She took the stool next to him, ignoring his glower. The girl upon whose thigh his hand was currently resting blinked - Georgie ignored the little slut.

"Leave."

Carter sighed in irritation as the blonde scampered off.

"What do you _want_, Georgie?"

Her gaze was even as she sipped at a martini, spearing the olive with another smile. "The same thing I wanted before, Baizen. Only you don't seem to be listening." The smile didn't reach the glint in her eye. "Tell your little buddy to stop stalking mine."

The man rolled his eyes. "Do I have to call the doorman again?"

Georgina suddenly slammed the martini glass down. Her voice was little more than a hiss as she leaned into him. "I don't think you realise the consequences of your actions. If you don't stop Chuck, I'm going to destroy you. Make no mistake."

Carter didn't even flinch. "Beat it, Georgie."

She tilted her head, eyes slanting like a snake. A slow smile crossed her face. "I wouldn't be so quick to get rid of me if I were you." She moved even closer, her own hand sliding to his thigh as her fingers curled on his trouser leg. "You see - I know, Baizen."

His tone was cool. "Know what, exactly?"

She traced the material with her nails, sliding dangerously close to his crotch. Her breath was hot and gin tinted, her hair brushing his cheek as she murmured in his ear. "Do you think Chuck would still be your friend if he knew?"

Carter suddenly gripped her wrist, hard. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

His grip must have hurt, but she just laughed and gazed at him through her lashes. "Really?"

He released her with a noise of disgust and pushed her away. "Go ahead. Do your worst." He looked at her with contempt. "Do you honestly think he'd believe you?"

"I don't know," she purred. "But I'd be willing to give it a try."

Carter's smile slid back into place, cold. He pushed her martini glass away as he leaned down to her on the bar. "I think you're forgetting who you're dealing with." His blue eye were like flint. "No one threatens _me_." He twisted his head as his lip curled. "I can make your life very unpleasant, Sparks. How would you like your precious home broken into? Or your little alcohol problem to become public knowledge? Because that's just where I'll start. Believe me."

Her expression soured. He continued to smile as she gave him the ugliest look and snatched up her bag. She pushed her glass, savage, so that it fell off the bar and smashed violently. There was a brief pause in the music as startled people looked round.

"Oops," she sneered over her shoulder. "Guess you'll have to pay for that."

* * *

><p>They were seated in a private booth – Murphy had insisted – a bottle of champagne between the two of them. Blair was almost on the edge of her seat, fingers clenched so tight around her glass Chuck was sure it was seconds from shattering, legs pressed together and spine rigid. Her dark eyes tracked the movements of the dancers on stage, silent.<p>

Chuck followed them too, sprawled back against the cushions. But he was still watching her out of the corner of his eye. She was paler than usual; there was an odd light in her eye. He recognised it, he realised. There was something too familiar about her reluctance to go home. That need to escape. She looked like him. And maybe that was what he found so unsettling.

He watched her again, voice little more than a drawl. "So what exactly-"

"Am I boring?" She cut him off, quite abruptly, without even looking at him. Her gaze was still focused on the dancers, her voice brittle.

He cocked his head. Was she boring? She was uptight. Cold – on the outside, at least. Boring was the _last _thing she was. But more importantly – why was she asking? He knew she didn't actually care what he thought. She didn't actually want his opinion; but she'd asked. It was obviously weighing on her mind. And why?

She scoffed before he had the chance to respond, still gripping that glass. "Actually, don't bother. I don't want to hear whatever insult you're about give me."

Was this it? Was her life really this pathetic? Plotting so some insipid prince would fall in love with her – even if it was a means to an end – then what? Then her family's money was restored. Harold's debts paid off. And then she was married, for the rest of her life, to someone who couldn't even pronounce her name properly. Then she'd done the right thing. She knew it was necessary. It was safe. She liked plans, and she liked safe. Blair Waldorf was not a dreamer, she reminded herself. She would get what she wanted. What she needed.

But why did it make her feel so...insignificant? Married into a royal family that would dictate her behaviour for the rest of her life – rules that she'd follow, because she was Blair Waldorf and of course she would – living, always, in the shadow of some foreign prince.

Was that really it? She'd used to _laugh _at those poor stupid girls who wasted all their efforts striving just to get a husband. How sad. How dull. The perfect marriage was supposed to be simply the cherry on the cake; one in a long list of achievements. And now it seemed like it was the only thing Blair had to aim for.

Those sluts on the stage looked like they were having more fun than she was. And they were nobodys. But looking at them – they looked like they knew what they wanted. They were in control. They had all the men in the audience captivated with just one flick of their hips. They didn't have to pretend to be _nice. _Or _proper. _

And what was the world coming to if she actually envied -

"You've got plenty of problems, Waldorf." Chuck's voice was suddenly right against her ear, his shoulder brushing hers as leaned forwards to speak into her. "But that isn't one of them." She turned, gaze catching his as she stared; "You couldn't be boring if you tried."

She'd been driving him crazy - but he had to admit that the one thing he hadn't been for the past few weeks was bored.

His closeness made her breath catch again - perhaps the champagne was going to her head - but something about those black eyes made her believe him. Thoughts of dullness and insignificance seemed to get swallowed in the golden flecks of his gaze. It shouldn't have meant anything - it was Chuck Bass, after all - but she felt it. Some kind of -

"Well." She turned away, pursing her lips. "You sure know how to compliment a girl, Bass."

He just grinned (ignoring the sudden dryness in his mouth; clearly he needed more champagne) and nudged her shoulder.

She rolled her eyes, taking care to re-establish the distance between them. Him being so close was definitely not a good idea.

* * *

><p>Georgie was mid hailing a cab when she spotted him.<p>

She did a double take herself - but he was already heading, unmistakeably, into Gimlet. Head down like that would somehow stop anyone recognising him. But then she supposed there was no one else here that would. Not from his circle, surely.

And, just before she got into the taxi, she saw none other than Carter Baizen greet him at the door.

Her eyes narrowed.

Well.

* * *

><p>The champagne had <em>definitely<em> gone to her head as she allowed Chuck to guide her back into his car. Because she realised she'd actually had a good time.

She'd drank glass after glass without even thinking about it - without thinking at all, really. Listening to the music and watching the dancers and fending off Chuck's sleazy comments. And it had been oddly easy to talk to him. Still sharp, still brittle and laden with insults - but somehow that had been just what she wanted.

He'd made no attempt to dredge up the past, and for moments she'd actually found herself enjoying his company rather than trying to work out what he was up to.

It felt good - it felt like a break from being Blair Waldorf. (A break that should have set off warning signs, but she'd reached the dizzying stage of not caring, just for moments. Just for one night).

"Why," she sighed as Chuck slid her into the interior of his car and followed; "Is it so much fun, just not...being me?"

Chuck smirked, faintly, and said nothing.

His smirked faded a little as she leaned her head back against the leather seat and the car pulled away. This was exactly what he'd wanted, he realised. Blair Waldorf not to be, well, Blair Waldorf. To let loose. He glanced over at her now, dark curls fanned against the seat and legs crossed. She'd definitely let loose, all right. He just hadn't expected it to be this much - fun. Had he actually been _enjoying _her company?

And he hadn't realised that she was right. _Why is it so much fun just not being me? _Not being Chuck Bass. Was this what normal people did? A normal guy, enjoying a girl's company? Not her body. Not her talented mouth or her perfect breasts. Just - her.

But he wasn't quite as inebriated as she was - champagne didn't affect him half as much - and he had a plan to think about. A plan that didn't involve musings of another life. He was Chuck Bass. That would never change; one evening made no difference.

And if he was following the plan, then now would be the perfect time to make his move.

He tilted his head to glance at her again, and was caught off guard when she did the same seconds later. And then it was just her brown eyes on his. Her coat was open, for once, and he could see the curve of her collar bone above her blue dress. Another damn pilgrim dress. He was momentarily distracted by the sweep of her lashes and a passing streetlight dappled against her cheekbones - and then before he could work out how best to move in, she'd already closed the space between them.

She was his for the taking - and just for a second, he stalled.

She wasn't acting like Blair Waldorf. Perhaps that was what threw him. Perhaps it was the odd light in her eyes that he suddenly recognised from earlier. _Why is it so much fun just not being me? _Bitterness. That was why he'd thought about it in terms of himself. Because there had been an edge of bitterness in her voice, and he'd recognised it.

But she was leaning in closer now, and her lips brushed his. Her skin was hot against his. Her next words were whispered into his mouth.

"Take me."

Take her - that was the plan. Take her. It was like she'd read his thoughts - she was _telling _him to do exactly what he wanted.

(But then what was the point of all her resistance? Why was she throwing it all away now?)

He discarded those thoughts with some frustration - what was _wrong _with him? - and moved to capture her lips with his. He already knew that she'd taste delicious. But as his hand moved to the nape of her neck, tangling in her hair and pulling her head closer, his thoughts drifted instead to her pristine curls. As his hands should have been sliding down to the fastening of her dress, he was instead thinking of her high buttoned coats and flawless skin; and as his hand caressed her spine, he found himself thinking of her perfect posture.

Why was she giving in so easily?

_Why? _

He didn't realise he'd spoken the word outloud; breathed it against her skin, till she'd pulled back a little and was staring up at him. He could feel her heat across the seat, her fingers lightly brushing his between them.

"Because I don't want to be me," she murmured. "I want nothing to matter." All her abstinence and manners and charming, lovely dates and pathetic goals - and she wasn't a good person and she never would be. Chuck Bass, of all people, seemed to be the only one who realised that. Wasn't life so much easier when nothing mattered?

Champagne, darkness and that heady sensation of falling; she moved into kiss him again, and that was when she made the mistake of looking up.

Into dark eyes that jolted her. Jolted her out of _that _memory, out of falling, and into another one. Into the memory of a boy and a dark, clever gaze and a sudden crooked smile. A boy that was always supposed to have been her family.

And then she felt like she couldn't breathe and all the champagne was rushing up from her stomach - and then she turned away and vomitted all over the leather seats.

* * *

><p>There was no sign of Carter by the time Chuck got to Gimlet. So he was probably already in the back room, and the game must have started. His prediction had been wrong - Chuck was late back.<p>

Late back because he'd spent nearly an hour trawling the streets after Blair had jerked open the door of his car and fled into the night. He didn't want her wandering alone; not at that hour, and definitely not in that state.

And he couldn't get rid of that damn look on her face.

Haunted.

She'd looked _haunted. _

He'd ended up at her building - and he'd actually, genuinely, considered calling the police. Which just showed how addled his brain was. Luckily her doorman then informed him Miss Waldorf had got back not that long ago. With a disaproving look, of course. What kind of cad let a young woman walk home by herself?

Chuck had been filled with a burning desire to go up after her into her penthouse and - what?

He'd well and truly blown it now. If he'd just fucking _taken _her, like she'd told him to; and at the same time, he knew with absolute certainty that he couldn't have done, and he had no idea why. And that was what really terrified him.

Almost as much as that look in her eyes.

He needed drink, and he needed it now. Not champagne. Proper drink. He wasn't in the mood for playing poker, either - he'd have to tell Carter as much before heading back to his suite. He cut through the tables, ignoring the half-dressed girls and drunken greetings till he got to the back room. He could hear the game on the other side; sighing, he pushed open the door.

The table was full, the room dimly lit and smoky. He scanned the faces in search of Carter.

And that was when he froze.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Don't hate me for the cliffhanger? Thank you so so much for your wonderful reviews :) I hope I didn't destroy the CB scene too much with that ending; and sorry it wasn't just a copy of Victor/Victrola! **


	10. Chapter 10

What was it Carter had said? _You won't want to miss this game. _Because there, sitting next to the man himself, was a new player. New to their game – but not new to Chuck.

Because it was Harold Waldorf.

Chuck's gaze shot straight to his best friend - what the hell was this?

But Carter merely smirked, eyes gleaming. Chuck wasn't going to get any answers out of him. Not yet. He knew what Baizen was like at the table; he took gambling seriously.

He turned, slowly, back to Blair's father. The man didn't look well. He was pale and haggard, dark circles ravaging his eyes and his suit creased. He shuffled the cards in his hands, dropping his chip as he studiously avoided Chuck. Chuck hadn't seen him in years – not properly, not since he was a little boy playing at Blair's house. He remembered him as a warm presence, the only kind adult at the Waldorf's.

Nothing like the worn shell of the man that sat before him now. Was that why Harold could no longer meet his gaze?

Or was it because he was at a _gambling house_, of all places, where only the lowest of the low frequented, to be watched by people like Chuck who revelled in their misery? Strangely enough, he didn't feel too much like revelling now. This was Blair's _father_, for Christ sakes. A Waldorf. He didn't belong here.

Still, Chuck's face was quite blank as he took the seat on the other side of Carter. Going home and getting drunk was the last thing on his mind now. Now, he wanted to play. And it seemed so did Harold.

Chuck could already see that the man wasn't doing too well; and he watched as he continued to play the game of a desperate man, raising the stakes wildly ever higher as he struggled to maintain a neutral expression and ignore whatever awful hand he kept getting dealt with. Chuck knew for a fact that Blair would have a better poker face than he did. She'd be far better at this game than her shaking father.

But still Harold played on.

"I raise you a million." Everyone at the table froze, and Chuck stared at Carter - who had just spoken - in disbelief.

They didn't have a fucking million to gamble away. What in God's name was he doing? Two more folded, till it was just the three of them. Carter, Chuck, and Harold.

Harold's hands quivered.

"I raise you another million." His voice was unstable and hoarse.

_Two million? _What kind a joke was this?

No one in their right mind betted that kind of money in a _game. _But he couldn't help the thought crossing his mind, anyway. Two million. A jolt of excitement. If they won -

Then he glanced at Harold again. Because it made no sense. Because no one betted that amount unless. Unless they wanted it for themselves so desperately that they'd risk it all.

And how could Harold Waldorf ever be that desperate for money?

_Could _he be that desperate for money? Chuck glanced at his own – rather poor - hand as his thoughts raced. Eleanor's apparent desperation for Blair to marry Nate. From what he remembered, the woman wasn't the kind to take real interest in her daughter's love life. Not unless it would benefit her. Blair's pursuit of the prince; but then, it was Blair. And a prince.

Sure, Blair still had all her dresses and her pearls. But then an Upper East Sider would never dream of appearing anything less than loaded; they would eat out of silver plates even as their house was being repossessed. And Blair was damn good at pretending.

His gaze slid back to Harold. The man was sweating.

Chuck's hand was probably still better than his.

Ordinarily this was the best part of the game – when you knew your opponent was onto a loser. Even better when it was obvious they didn't actually have the money to pay. Because then the debts started. Then they started pleading. But something about the idea of Harold Waldorf pleading – being in debt to _him_, of all people – made Chuck feel a little queasy. He didn't want this, he realised. And it wasn't a pleasant realisation.

"I fold," he muttered.

Carter snapped round to stare at him, frowning slightly; Chuck just narrowed his eyes like it couldn't be helped. What the hell was Bazien up to? How had he even got in touch with Harold Waldorf?

Chuck knew Carter well enough – knew his tells – to know that Harold now didn't stand a chance. He wanted to stop the game. He wanted Harold to go back to his damn apartment on the Upper East Side and pretend he'd never seen him here, where he didn't belong.

Harold's hands were shaking as he laid down his cards. Chuck didn't even need to look at the full house in Carter's hand, or the triumphant gleam in his eye. It was over.

"I-"

"That's two million." Carter's tone was quite cool as he gazed at the man, entirely unaffected. Like he was just another player. But he knew damn well who Harold Waldorf was.

"I-" Harold swallowed; Chuck saw him wipe his hands on his trousers and had to look away. This was so fucking wrong. "I don't have it."

Carter raised an eyebrow. "You don't...have it?" Each word was clearly enunciated as he stared at the man. Pathetic.

And all Chuck could think was that Harold Waldorf's brown eyes were exactly like Blair's, except he'd never seen Blair this weak. Even that terrifying look on her face in his car -

God, he was playing poker with the father of the girl he'd just tried to seduce in his car. The girl who's perfume still lingered on his jacket. The girl he'd just got drunk enough to throw up. Her father. Harold Waldorf, head now bowed shamefully in front of Chuck and his best friend.

"So you bet two million – and now you have no way of actually paying up?"

Carter was relentless. He seriously seemed to be _enjoying _this. Hell, the intimidation was normally Chuck's favourite part too. But not like this.

"So what am I supposed to do now?" Carter enquired calmly.

"Baizen." Chuck glanced at him and him alone, eyes dark. "That's enough." His voice was dangerous.

Carter paid it no heed. "Two million dollars is a lot of money, Mr. Waldorf." The name was all wrong, sneered out of his mouth.

"I can – get a loan-"

The other man folded his arms. "And how long will that take?"

Harold swallowed again, and Chuck wished more than ever that the man would just disappear. Just leave, right now. He felt even sicker as Harold's gaze shifted to him – just for a second. He soon looked away. It was like he couldn't believe he'd sunk this low either.

"I don't know."

Baizen sighed. "I run a business. You are aware of that, presumably? Mr. Bass and I-" Chuck shot him a venomous glare at the mention of his name; he wanted no part in this. A glare that Carter ignored, of course. "We need that money, Mr. Waldorf. Money that we won fair and square." He flexed his knuckles idly. "I don't think you're being very reasonable."

Chuck couldn't actually look at the desperation in Harold's eyes now.

"I can't pay you. I – I already owe some money as it is. But – perhaps we could come to some sort of agreement-"

"Agreement?" Baizen cocked his head. "Like...what, exactly?"

"I'm a very good lawyer – perhaps I could-"

Carter's scornful laugh echoed around the room. "A good lawyer? What kind of lawyer loses this much money _gambling_?"

Chuck had had more than he could stomach. He jerked to his feet; Carter's gaze narrowed on him.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," Chuck snarled. "I said that's _enough_."

Carter eyed him coldly. "I told you you wouldn't want to miss this. Sit, Bass."

But Chuck was already heading for the door. If Carter thought he could order him around like some kind of dog -

"All right, Mr. Waldorf. I've thought of something you can do for us. For both of us, actually." Chuck paused, despite himself. He turned slowly and stared at his best friend. What was he up to now? "Chuck here has developed an...interest, in something belonging to you."

"Baizen-"

"Or rather, someone," he added like Chuck hadn't spoken. "Your daughter."

For a second Harold just stared. "My – Blair?"

Why did he have to say her name? And say it like _that_?

"So I'll tell you what." Carter smiled as he leaned across the table. "You give Chuck permission to marry _Blair_, and you can consider your debt paid."

Chuck was staring at him now too. Had this been his plan, all along? He was pretty sure there was no way Harold would agree to something so -

But Harold had stopped. "What if Blair doesn't...what if she doesn't want to marry you?" His gaze shot to Chuck once more, struggling to hold it. And he said it like it was only a possibility. Perhaps he didn't know his daughter all that well.

Carter's eyebrows arched again. "You're her father, aren't you? Don't you have a say in who she marries?"

Harold paused again. "I suppose."

The idea of this man ordering Blair to do anything should have been ridiculous. But if Chuck remembered correctly – and he did – then ordering wouldn't even be needed. Blair would do anything for her precious daddy. Hardly surprising, considering he was the only parent who'd ever shown her any sign of affection.

But _this_?

Chuck gazed at Harold, wondering how he could possibly agree. This was his daughter, for Christ's sake. Wasn't Harold supposed to be a good person, or something?

"You suppose?" Carter snorted. "You'd think you'd be a little more convincing when the alternative would cost you _two million. _I'm doing you a favour here." His eyes were cold and unforgiving; Harold visibly flinched.

"I'll make it happen." He couldn't look at Chuck any more, and Chuck didn't blame him. He managed to spit out the next words anyway, climbing to his feet like that somehow gave him back any shred of dignity. His head was still bowed. "I'll talk to her tomorrow."

Chuck waited till he was gone before he turned to Carter. He was so – what? Angry? _Sick? _- that for a moment he couldn't even bring himself to speak. His head was still reeling – had that actually just happened?

But Carter was already grinning. "You're welcome."

"_Welcome_?" Chuck hissed. "What was that?"

"That," Baizen smirked, "Is how you handle things." He reached for a cigarette, tipping back his chair; and then let out an exasperated sigh as he saw that Chuck still wasn't smiling. "What's wrong with you? I just got you Blair Waldorf."

"What the hell was her father doing here in the first place?" Chuck demanded.

His friend just smirked again. "It seems good old Harold has a bit of a gambling problem. The family tried to keep it hush hush, of course – Eleanor packed him off to France after he got into trouble with the law here, ran up a few million dollar debts." There was a particularly unpleasant note of glee in Carter's voice. "But it looks like he just got into more trouble in France. I heard from a...friend that he was back in Manhattan, looking for money." His smirk broadened as he dragged, deep, from his cigarette. "I could see you weren't making any progress with the girl, so I figured I'd get us some insurance. Help move things along."

"By inviting him to a _poker _game?"

Carter just shrugged. "It worked, didn't it? I have to say, I didn't think he'd give in that easily. But now that I got you the girl-"

"Stop saying that," Chuck snarled. He didn't know why it was getting to him so much.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Carter's face. "What's your _problem_? You should be thanking me."

Chuck clenched his jaw. "I told you I'd handle it myself."

"Please." The other man snorted. "At the rate you were going, you'd be holding hands – at a push – by some point next year."

"You can't barter _people_, Baizen," Chuck spat at last. "What the hell was that?"

Carter's eyes narrowed. "You can't barter people – or you can't barter _her_? Because you've never had a problem with it before. So don't pick now to grow a conscience." He tilted his head, and Chuck suddenly wanted to punch him. "Don't tell me you've got feelings for her?"

Chuck just looked at him icily. "Don't push me." His jaw was still clenched.

Carter rolled his eyes. "Come on. Stop being so miserable. It's not like your intentions towards her were ever honourable to begin with – all I did was speed things up." He got to his feet, discarding of his smoke. "I'm going to get a drink. And you should too – you should be celebrating." He smirked once more as he slapped Chuck's shoulder. "This time tomorrow we'll be one step closer to two million dollars!"

Chuck let him go. The last thing he felt like doing now was celebrating – not when he still felt this sick and he didn't even know why.

* * *

><p>Blair was woken by the curtains being viciously tugged back, as sunlight attacked her sore eyes and pounding head. Her mouth still felt fuzzy from last night.<p>

"Up!" Her mother was in her room. "Come on – up you get!"

Oh, God. She wanted to bury under the covers and stay there forever. But Eleanor was already yanking the duvet back, Blair's dressing gown thrust out.

"We have an important brunch today, Blair. Now hurry up and get ready."

She swept out of the room, leaving her daughter in a state of despair. Since when did Eleanor come and wake her up? Since never. The last thing she felt like doing was having _brunch _with her mother. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to keep the food down.

But she couldn't let herself think about last night. Not even for a second. So maybe it was a good thing that she was being kept busy. Maybe it was a good thing that she got back to doing what she was supposed to as soon as possible.

What was she thinking?

There was no _maybe _about it.

So she forced herself out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom. She scrubbed till her skin was pink, and then brushed her teeth till they actually hurt. Her reflection was awful, hair limp and circles under her eyes. She scowled as she selected a brown and beige floral dress from her wardrobe – conservative as possible, down to the lace on the sleeves and the high collar. She spent even longer on her make up than usual, perfecting it over her pale skin and tired eyes, and then attacked her hair with a comb, curling it as tight as she could. She regarded her reflection particularly savagely. She looked blank. Prim and pale and – ugly. Washed out. She slipped her feet into a pair of low heels and headed downstairs; no doubt to be told the same thing by her mother.

There was an unpleasant surprise waiting for her in the parlour. Unpleasant in the form of the Archibalds. Not just Nate – Anne and Howard too. And Serena wasn't with them. What on earth was Eleanor up to now?

She smiled as she kissed Anne's cheeks and shook Howard's hand, hating the way they both looked her over like a buyer would a horse. It was no secret that Anne had never liked Serena. And Lily had no time for Howard – so Nate and Serena's union was not exactly a peaceful one. Nate, meanwhile, was pressed into a crisp suit and looked decidedly uncomfortable. Blair was glad she wasn't the only one.

"Blair." Eleanor's smile was tight. "Why don't you fetch Nathaniel a drink?"

Blair threw an eye-roll in Nate's direction – he smiled, faintly, and she kept up her perfect hostess facade as she went dutifully into the kitchen.

Sometimes she hated her mother.

* * *

><p>Chuck had spent most of last night drinking - with the result that he was probably now even more hungover than Blair. In fact, he was probably still drunk. The point of drinking was to forget, surely; so why hadn't that happened?<p>

But he'd had all night to think about it, and he'd reached a conclusion. It was all clear now. This was all her fault. This was all Blair Waldorf's fault. If she hadn't been so goddamn challenging and smug and _perfect _then he wouldn't have wanted to take her down. He would have given up. Hell, if she'd been just a little sluttier or more like Serena then she wouldn't have been a candidate for this whole marriage in the first place.

It was her fault she'd teased him. It was her fault she got under his skin like no other girl even knew how to. It was her fault she kept herself so pristine that she was _begging _to be violated. It was her fault they'd even been friends as kids to begin with - her and her schemes that had made him think she was actually a girl he could like. Her fault she'd fallen for that dolt Nate Archibald and probably her fault he'd wound up friends with the asshole that was Carter Baizen.

Her fault he'd ended up in a thunder storm, of all things, with her. Again. Her fault she smelt so delicious. Her fault she did stupid things like licking cream off her lip that he couldn't get out of his head. Her fault he'd ended up showing her Victrola, her fault he'd taken her back there and got distracted by her misery. Her fault for being so...so not Blair Waldorf when she was drunk. Her fault for letting her guard down. Her fault for not letting her guard down. Her fault for trying to kiss him in his car - her fault that he hadn't been able to take her - and then her fault for that _look_ in her eyes.

The only thing he couldn't quite find blame for was the Harold Waldorf mess. But that had to be her fault too. In fact - it was her fault she was such a damn daddy's girl. So if she wound up married to Chuck Bass, then she had only herself to blame. And it was her fault, definitely, that he felt so weird about it.

He wanted to destroy her.

Just - for some reason - not quite like this. He wanted to personally destroy her, not get someone else to trap her into marriage with him.

He glanced up as he realised the car had stopped, scowling over the seat at his driver.

"Arthur? Why the hell are we at the Waldorf penthouse?"

He just saw the man's eyebrows lift in the mirror. "You kept saying Blair Waldorf, sir. Is this not where she lives?"

He'd been _cursing _her - not saying her name. Definitely not telling Arthur to take him to her.

"Shall I turn around, sir?"

Chuck paused. "No," he muttered at last. "Wait here." He climbed out of the car, squinting in the sunlight. What the hell _was _he doing here? He didn't know, but he was heading for the elevator and for her penthouse.

* * *

><p>Blair was feeling about ready to scream. Her dress was suffocating her - but not half as much as Anne's glances and Eleanor's none too subtle hints. She took another sip of tea, the cup's china handle digging into her hand. Nate kept shifting in his seat, gaze drifting to the window, and it was driving her insane. How could she have forgotten that he didn't know how to sit still for longer than five minutes? He and Serena had that in common.<p>

She tried to focus on the polite conversation. She tried to sit up straight and keep her smile fixed in place. Because if she didn't, then her thoughts drifted in a dangerous place and she wanted to burrow into the ground and die.

But she really didn't know how much more of this she could take.

"Miss Blair?"

She'd never been more relieved to hear Dorota's voice; so relieved that she almost missed the shifty look on the maid's face.

"There is...visitor, for you."

She could _feel _the weight of Eleanor's frown; she leapt to her feet before the woman could stop her.

"Who is it?" Eleanor demanded.

Dorota paused. "It is...gentleman."

The matriarch stiffened, gaze moving straight to the Archibalds to judge their reaction. Anne's brow puckered, but Nate grinned suddenly.

"It's not that Humphrey guy, is it?"

Eleanor looked positively appalled. "Not that awful Brooklyn boy, Blair?" She shot a despairing glance at Anne; "I really don't know what to do. Blair's made it perfectly clear that she's not interested, but he can't seem to take a hint."

Blair rolled her eyes. She'd actually take Humphrey now over the present company. "Don't worry. I'll go and get rid of him."

She nipped out of the room before her mother could add anything else. She couldn't help but exhale slightly once she was out of the confines of the parlour. Free - if only for a few minutes.

Although she did hope that it wasn't Humphrey. She wasn't in the mood for dealing with him today.

She wasn't prepared for who it actually was. Her breath actually caught in her throat - what the hell was he doing _here_? After last night? Why on earth had Dorota even let him in?

He was sitting on the chaise long in the hall - and as he climbed to his feet, she realised that while his suit was as slick as ever, he himself was - not. He was drunk, she realised. She could smell scotch mixed under his cologne, and as he removed his hat she could see that his hair was almost dishevelled.

His gaze was quite sharp as it roved her figure, though. "No pearls today?" His voice was lazy.

She drew herself up, instinctive. "No."

"Didn't feel...classy enough?"

Her lips turned white, though she didn't flinch. "What are you doing here?" Even she could hear how stiff and cold she sounded.

He didn't answer her question, nodding his head instead in the direction of the parlour as Eleanor's laugh drifted out. "Am I interrupting something?" His lip curled. "Don't tell me you've finally introduced the prince to your mother?"

She studied him, well aware of the sneer. "It's not Louis. The Archibalds are visiting."

Chuck's face betrayed nothing. "Of course. The other suitor. So are you engaged to him yet? Or did the prince get in there first?"

Blair gave him a cruel glare. "In case you've forgotten, Nate's marrying Serena."

"Not if you have your way," he smirked. "I'm sure."

For a moment she looked like she wanted to slap him; then it was like her face closed off again. "I think you should leave. Now."

But he clearly had no intention of going anywhere. "I need to tell you something."

She folded her arms. "I don't think I want to hear it."

He took a step closer, cutting off her personal space; and for a moment he just gazed at her, eyes flickering over the pale skin of her face. His lips were suddenly very close to hers. "I-"

She lifted a brow. "You what?"

He paused - and then he closed his mouth. "Nothing." He was already turning to leave.

Incensed, she went to grab his arm to stop him; and then she remembered herself and snatched her hand back. "Why did you come here?" she demanded.

He just lifted a shoulder and pulled his hat back down. "I wanted to check you hadn't been mugged or something last night." He spared her a glance. "I don't want a dead body on my conscience either."

She gritted her teeth together in sheer frustration. Well, what else had she expected?

"You waited till morning to check? Some help you are." She folded her arms again, glowering as she watched him leave. "You'd better not come back here again."

He stilled briefly by the elevator again, eyes scanning her one last time. "Sorry, princess." And that was all he said before he disappeared; and with his back to her, she couldn't see the odd expression on his face.

* * *

><p>"Hey."<p>

Chuck paused - and then wished he hadn't. Great. That was all he needed. Nate Archibald, of all people, was hurrying after him. Chuck could even make out the Captain some way behind.

"Don't worry, Archibald," Chuck sighed. "I'm leaving." They were outside Blair's building now; he would have thought that was pretty obvious.

Nate, however, refused to budge. "What did you want with Blair?"

Chuck spared him a look of contempt. "I fail to see how that's any of your business." And why the hell _was _it his business, when he was engaged to Serena?

The blond crossed his arms. "Blair's one of my oldest friends. I care about her. So it _is _my business. Especially if you're doing something to hurt her."

Chuck finally stopped, at that. "Oldest friends?" he sneered. (Actually, he was pretty sure they'd been friends a long time before Archibald had). "From what I hear, the two of you were more than friends." His eyes slanted as he looked the other man up and down. "You sure you're not just jealous? Hanging onto old feelings?"

Nate frowned. "I have a fiancee."

The other man's mouth twisted. "So why don't you focus on her? Sounds like she needs a lot more help than Blair does."

Nate's frown deepened as he registered the insult; he took a step closer to Chuck. "Hey. Watch it."

"Or what?" Chuck scoffed, almost amused. Did Nate Archibald seriously think he was threatening?

Golden boy's perfect blue eyes narrowed. "Just stay away from Blair."

"I'm pretty sure Blair can take care of herself. But thank you _so_ much for warning me." He gave the blond a nasty smile. "I'll make sure to keep it in mind."

Nate drew himself up again - but the Captain arrived at that moment and interupted them. He blinked a couple of times as he took in the other young man before crying, "Chuck Bass! Is that you? I haven't seen you since you were a kid!" He held out a packet of cigars. "Smoke?"

"I'm afraid I have to be on my way," Chuck retorted drily. "Such a shame." He glanced at Nate again. "Have fun with daddy, Archibald."

And then he was gone.

* * *

><p>"Now that the men are out the way," Anne exchanged a glance with Eleanor, grinning slightly over her teacup; "We can get to business."<p>

Blair felt a pit of dread creep up in her stomach as she forced a smile back. Her mother was looking far too pleased with herself.

Anne set the china down. "Blair, I have to be honest. When you and Nate called it off - it nearly broke my heart. It really did." She looked anything but heartbroken now, Blair reflected. And she doubted Anne had cared all that much till she'd realised who Blair's replacement was. Serena was pretty much any mother's worst nightmare.

"It was such a shame," Eleanor agreed, sighing.

"And Serena - well." Anne's lips were pinched. "I knew there was something...off, right from the beginning. Don't get me wrong," she added. "I'm sure that Serena is a _lovely _girl. Deep down. And losing her brother like that-" Blair looked up, sharp, and Anne cleared her throat and swiftly moved on. "I'm sure things haven't been easy for her. But," she exchanged another glance with Eleanor. "Some things have recently come to my attention about her...conduct. And I just don't feel I can ignore them."

Blair flashed her teeth in a perfect smile. "I can assure you that anything you've heard about Serena is false. You know what these rumour mills are like, Mrs. Archibald. Girls are just jealous."

Her mother shot her an annoyed look that she ignored; Anne simply shook her head.

"I don't think so. Not this time. I've heard from a very reliable source-"

"Who?"

"Blair," Eleanor hissed at the girl's sharp tone. She managed a smile as Anne glanced at her. "I don't think it's polite to question Anne's credibility. Obviously, she's heard enough."

Anne nodded in agreement. "I just don't think that Miss van der Woodsen is right for my son," she sighed. "I'm afraid that any marriage would only make him unhappy, ultimately."

"With all due respect, Mrs Archibald-" by which Blair meant none at all, "I don't see how Nate could ever be unhappy with a girl that he loves as much as he does Serena."

Oh, she was going to be in so much trouble with Eleanor later. The woman was practically fit to burst.

"Well that's all very nice, dear," she snapped; "But we're talking about suitability here."

"Exactly," Anne agreed. "And I'm afraid that Serena simply isn't approppriate for Nate."

Blair pinched her lips together. She'd already known that there would be no point in arguing. "Right."

Anne smiled over at her. "You, on the other hand-" she took Blair's hands in hers, and it was all the girl could do not to jerk away. "You and Nate have always been perfect together." She beamed at Eleanor. "Haven't we always said what a wonderful couple they make? We always thought the two of you would end up married, Blair."

Blair could feel the single pastry she'd eaten repeating on her. She hated Anne Archibald, she decided. The stupid, stupid woman.

Neither of them were listening to a word she was saying. What else had she expected?

"But Nate _is _still engaged to Serena."

Anne had obviously misinterpreted her fake smile for something else; she laughed lightly anyway, waving a hand.

"But let's be honest here. Van der Bilts - they don't end up married to girls like Serena. Nate has a brilliant future ahead of him. Howie and I both agree that this Serena thing is just a phase-"

Blair couldn't listen to another word.

She rose, stiffly, to her feet. "I'm sorry." She was still smiling, even though it hurt her face. "Could you excuse me for a moment?"

She didn't wait for their permission, either, heading straight for her bathroom. She promptly threw up, and this time she didn't even need the help of her fingers. She stared at her reflection afterwards; her face even paler than it had been earlier, almost grey in the light of the bathroom and her eyes still strangely blank.

This was all her fault.

She'd slipped again - started to question the plan. And look where it had got her. A humiliating night with Chuck Bass - she'd _kissed_ him, and she'd been sick in his _car_, and she didn't even know which one was worse - and now this. Anne and Eleanor teaming up to try and destroy everything she'd built. Only a couple of years ago she'd have given anything to hear those words coming out of Anne's mouth; worse still, she'd have believed them.

How deluded _was_ she?

And now Louis was her only way out, which meant that she was worse than pathetic. She was _desperate. _

She'd sunk so low that she had Chuck Bass coming to check up on her to help his own non-existent conscience. Even worse, she'd confused herself so much last night that she'd -

She jerked the faucet, hard, splashing icy water on her face till it felt numb. Then she breathed out and smoothed down her curls. She felt too drained to even cry about it. Her reflection was hollow eyed as ever - she turned her back on it, heading out of the bathroom. And then she paused, because she thought she'd heard a familiar voice.

Was she hearing things now?

Slowly, she crept out of her room and peered over the banister.

And then she was flying down the stairs with no thought to anything else - flying towards the figure in the hall and straight into his ams, burying her face into his jumper and breathing in the familiar scent of his soap.

There were almost tears in her eyes as she gazed up at him; because she knew everything would be all right now. It had to be.

"Daddy."

Harold was home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN Thank you all so much for your amazing reviews! So I couldn't leave you hanging for too long...also, I apologise if parents in this fic seem a little OOC - it's more that I'm trying to exaggerrate their bad qualities. I realise that now on the show Harold and Eleanor have been remade into practically perfect parents - they won't be here! **


	11. Chapter 11

It was clear that Harold wasn't overjoyed to see the Archibalds – he'd never been Nate's hugest fan, Blair remembered – and she was glad now that he seemed as keen to get rid of them as she was.

Eleanor was not.

She didn't appreciate her husband showing up when he felt like it. She'd sent him to France for a reason. And she wasn't foolish enough to think that he'd returned home to solve their financial problems. If anything, he'd no doubt brought more. Blair was too blinded by her daddy to notice that distinctly guilty look in his eye. What had he done _now_?

Blair was happily chirping away to him as they sat on the sofa, like she didn't have a care in the world. Like Eleanor hadn't heard the water running just moments earlier and seen the odd pale sheen to her face. The girl was a mess, she reflected. The sooner she got her off her hands the better.

"So." Harold smiled as he ruffled her hair. (Like some kind of puppy, Eleanor thought. He always had seemed to see Blair as a pet rather than a responsibility.) "What were the Archibalds doing here? I haven't seen them in a while." He glanced at his wife; "I wasn't aware you and Anne were still friends."

"I don't think we should start listing all the things you aren't aware of."

Blair chose to ignore her mother's acerbic response. "It doesn't matter," she said swiftly, and she couldn't stop her faint smile. "What matters is that you're back now."

"If you must know," Eleanor sniffed, "Nate and Blair are considering reuniting."

Harold froze. He glanced, quickly, at his daughter. "Is that true, Blair Bear? I thought you'd both moved on. Isn't Nate-"

"Serena's a phase," Eleanor cut in icily.

Blair shot a brief glare at her mother. "No, she isn't. Nate and Serena are going to be married. I'm not getting back together with him."

Eleanor's eyes narrowed back. "Anne and I have both agreed-"

"If Blair doesn't want to marry Nate, Eleanor, then it doesn't matter what you and Anne have agreed." Harold's tone was mild as ever; and Blair gazed at him with absolute relief. She knew Harold would be on her side. She knew he'd make everything better.

Eleanor frowned, surprised her husband was actually putting his foot down about something. Or expressing an opinion. As if he actually knew anything about his daughter's life or what she needed. What they all needed. Harold had already proven himself incapable of dealing with things like this. If it wasn't for his poor decisions in the first place -

"In fact, Blair, I'm glad to hear you're not seeing anyone else at the moment." Harold smiled. Blair paused - had her father not seen the papers? She guessed Manhattan news didn't reach him in France. Well, she was going to have to bring up Louis sooner or later; she'd been hoping to do it without her mother present, but she supposed it was now or never.

She took a breath. "Actually, daddy-"

"Because I think I've found you the perfect match. And he asked me – well, he asked for my permission. To marry you."

Eleanor dropped her head in her hands. Oh, God. She knew it. It was the Humphrey boy. Who else would have asked? And who else would Harold have been stupid enough to actually think was a _perfect match? _He was going to be the death of her. She just knew it. How could he have made such a mess of things? Now she would have to get the fool to go back to the Humphrey boy and tell him he'd actually made a mistake. That he would not, under any circumstances, be marrying Blair.

"Daddy." Blair paused. "This...man. Dark hair? Awful suit?"

Harold chuckled slightly. "No, he was very well dressed."

Had Humphrey bought a new suit? Impossible. Or – she suddenly stilled, hopes soaring. Could he? Could Louis have already asked her father? If he had, then this was a done deal. Then she didn't even need to worry about Nate any more. She couldn't have asked for anything more perfect.

"I think I know who you're talking about."

Harold glanced at her, and he was relieved to see that she was smiling. Perhaps this wouldn't be so awful after all. Perhaps Chuck Bass wasn't as bad as they all said and his daughter really was in love with him.

"And you'd say yes?" He was smiling now too. This would all work out fine. Blair would never even have to know-

"Who on earth are you talking about?" Eleanor demanded. She hadn't bothered keeping tabs on her daughter unless Nate was concerned – what other suitor could there possibly be?

Harold chuckled, exchanging a look with his little girl.

"Chuck Bass. He asked to marry Blair – and I said yes."

Blair's smile froze right off her face.

* * *

><p>Blair closed her bedroom door as she listened to her mother screeching at her father downstairs. She was still convinced she must have misheard.<p>

_Chuck Bass_?

Chuck had asked her father if he could _marry _her?

That was what he'd been up to all this time. He needed a society wife, obviously. Perhaps he was trying to close a deal. But then - why her? Surely there were hundreds of well-behaved, upper class girls who'd fall into bed and then marriage with him. That was what she didn't understand. Had he honestly thought she'd be an easier target because she knew him? And then she went a little cold as she wondered if he'd thought she'd be easier to manipulate. And she had been, hadn't she? All that trash about their memories – and last night -

And icy fury gripped her. No one made a fool of her.

But it was far worse than that.

The Basstard had ruined _everything. _Harold had stammered, confused at how suddenly upset she was, that he couldn't very well say no now. He'd agreed upon it.

Eleanor was in the middle of telling him just how much of a fool he was. With any luck, she'd get him to go back and explain that no marriage would be happening. If not, Blair was pretty sure her mother would do it herself. But it was still horribly embarrassing. If this got out – if Louis found out – well, then she was going to kill Chuck Bass.

She pressed her flushed cheek against the cold pane of glass, gazing out at the trickle of rain on the streets below. Her mother would sort it. Even if it was only to help her own agenda – Blair was still grateful.

But she didn't like feeling stupid. Even stupider than she'd felt last night. Chuck had thought that she would be easily manipulated, and he'd been right. That was what she couldn't get out of her head.

Well, he was going to pay. She was going to get out of this mess and she was going to finish him.

* * *

><p>Blair was busy plotting Chuck Bass' demise when she heard the front door slam. She paused, listening; only her mother would slam the door like that. Was she on her way out to annihilate Chuck? Blair hoped so. Eleanor dealing with him was far better than Harold - her father would probably be <em>nice <em>to him.

She glanced up in surprise as her bedroom door opened and Harold himself appeared. He looked weary, she noticed. He sighed as he sat down on her bed with her.

"I'm really sorry, Blair bear. I thought this was what you wanted."

How could her father have been so wrong about her? Chuck must have got to him. Reeled him in with same crap he'd tried on her; only Harold would actually have believed it. "It's ok," Blair assured him. "I know how manipulative Chuck Bass is. The man's a born liar – it's not your fault."

Harold nodded, almost awkwardly. "I...is he really that bad, darling?"

Blair pulled a face. "He's worse."

That seemed to make the man pause. "So you don't – you don't feel that way for him? At all?" He blurted on before she could answer, "Didn't you used to be friends?"

Blair rolled her eyes. Why did everyone keep reminding her of that? "Years ago, daddy. When I was too young to realise just how awful he is."

Harold paused again.

Blair glanced over at him. "Has mother gone to sort him out?"

Her father cleared his throat. "Ah, no."

Blair frowned. "Then-"

"I told her I wouldn't be changing my mind."

For a moment, his daughter could only stare. "What? Why?"

Harold exhaled, and she didn't think she'd ever seen him look so old. "Blair. I really do think you should marry Chuck."

She stilled. "Are you joking?" He had to be joking.

"No." He sounded tired and surprisingly firm. "Blair...I think that he'd be a good match for you. He's wealthy, successful – he comes from a good family – and I think he'd be able to take care of you. He - he really does love you."

"Are we talking about the same person?" Her voice was barely controlled; as if Chuck was even _capable_ of loving her.

"I know his reputation," Harold murmured. "But I think – you'll be surprised."

He'd told Eleanor the truth – had no choice – and that was why she'd stormed off. _All you ever do is cause more problems. Now we can't even marry her off to pay off the other debts you've run up._

He had no intention of telling Blair the truth, though. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle the look in her eyes when he told her he'd essentially traded her for two million dollars. And who knew – maybe she could like Chuck. Maybe he wouldn't treat her too badly. Maybe if Harold ever found a way to pay off his other debts, he could help arrange a quick divorce for her.

Blair was studying him in disbelief. "I don't understand." Her voice was very small. "How could you possibly think that?"

He looked at her was struck by how young she suddenly looked, curled up on her bed. He felt guilty, then. How could he just hand her over to a monster like Chuck Bass? But he knew he didn't have a choice.

"Blair," he said, very softly. Softly because he knew that this, above everything else, would get to her. For some reason it always did – perhaps she was too used to Eleanor's constant yelling. Gently, he laid a hand on his daughter's hair. "I want you to marry Chuck. It really would make me happy."

She stared up at him, and he saw the look in her eyes. Why was he doing this to her? Why was he asking this of her? "Please, darling. Tell me you'll at least consider it. I want you to be happy. This is what I want."

He tucked her hair behind her ear and left her staring after him in uncomprehending horror.

* * *

><p>Serena was woken in the middle of the night by a downright disgruntled maid holding out the telephone for her. She frowned as she took the machine from the woman, dismissing her as she raised the receiver to her ear. Her voice was still thick with sleep.<p>

"Hello?"

"Serena?"

The voice was a whisper on the other end, but she recognised it instantly.

"B?" She sat up, more awake now. "B, what is it? Is something wrong?"

There was a pause; and then Serena realised that she could hear faint muffled sobs on the other end.

"Yes."

The other's girl's voice broke down the line.

"Blair, what happened?" Serena cradled the receiver like she could somehow reach out and hold the girl on the other end.

"Everything is horrible," Blair whispered. "And I don't know what to do."

"Ok," Serena soothed, trying to calm her down. "Ok, talk to me. Tell me what happened." She was never in this position – she was never the one making Blair feel better.

"I – I have a choice. Except it's not really a choice. Or – maybe it is-"

"You're not making any sense," Serena pleaded. "B, what's going on?"

There was a deep, shuddering breath on the other side. "What would you do? If someone wanted you to do something, but you know it might ultimately end up hurting them?"

"I-" Serena paused. She was suddenly thinking about Eric, as ever; Eric who'd always wanted to be a part of her life, who she'd always kept at arm's length for fear of hurting him. Eric, who she and her mother had always tried to protect. So much it had made him lonely enough to take his own life. "I'd do it," she whispered. "Whatever makes them happy. Because you don't know what might hurt them. Not for definite."

There was silence on the other end.

Then another breath.

"Ok."

Silence.

"Ok."

* * *

><p>Chuck had been holed up in his suite all day, and Carter felt it was high time he came out. Particularly given the meeting he'd just come from.<p>

"So. Guess what?"

His best friend was still in his pyjamas and stank of alcohol. Carter really didn't know what his problem was.

"I just saw Harold."

And at that, he had Chuck's attention.

"He got Blair to say yes." He smirked, slapping the other man on the back. "She's going to marry you."

* * *

><p>The sun was sinking over the Manhattan skyline, red in the cold dusk. But it went unheeded by two dark heads. Two dark heads bent over a polished coffee table in a luxurious living room, engrossed.<p>

"So he's obviously managed to convince Harold he's a worthy suitor."

Georgina had decided not to tell Blair about seeing her father in Gimlet. Firstly, because she herself shouldn't have been anywhere near there, and she didn't want to have to explain herself. But also because she didn't really want Blair to know the truth she'd found out. Harold had gambled his own daughter.

"Probably convinced him he can provide for me," Blair scoffed. "And played on the childhood factor." Chuck, after all, was probably the only guy - apart from Nate - that Harold almost knew. All Blair could think was that the Basstard must have found some way to charm her father. (It had crossed her mind that perhaps he had some kind of leverage over him, too. But what?) "Perhaps he told him he could solve his financial problems."

Georgina paused from the list she was making. "Do you think he could?"

Blair tilted her head thoughtfully as she scanned her own paper. "Not unless he sold everything he owned." Her eyes gleamed with the potential of this idea. If there was some way she could gain control of some of his properties...

"That's the Empire Hotel and Gimlet. Officially. Plus five illegal joints and numerous holdings on the Upper West and East Side." She looked up with a smirk. "And that's only in Manhattan."

Georgina seemed excited by this too. Blair had come to her with one request: _help me take him down. _She'd finally told her everything - and Georgie had been only too eager to help. Finally. Finally, Blair had come to her senses. Finally, she would have the chance to destroy Chuck Bass once and for all.

And as his wife, Blair would have the most perfect opportunity ever.

"Now, back to why he needs a wife..."

"He obviously wants to appear legitimate for something. Some kind of respectable firm."

"What about Bass Industries?"

Blair paused for a moment. "His father's company." But why would Chuck want to impress Bart? Not for the sake of impressing him in itself; she knew that much. "Perhaps he wants something from the old man," she mused. A cut of Bart's will? That would need investigating.

"So presumably," Georgie added, "Not acting respectable would sabotage whatever that plan is."

Blair frowned, ever so slightly. How could she not act respectable?

"I'm not talking crazy, like off the rails." Georgie rolled her eyes. "Just enough to make him look bad."

Blair smirked a little. Yes, that would need some consideration too. Oh - she was going to enjoy every second of this. She was going to destroy him. Chuck Bass was going to regret the day he'd ever decided to pull her back into his miserable life.

* * *

><p>"What's that?"<p>

Chuck tossed the piece of paper down wordlessly and Carter squinted at it, frowning.

Then he let out a snort. "Dinner? Eleanor Waldorf is inviting _you _to dinner?" He was practically beside himself. "Oh, this is too good."

Chuck just gave him a look.

"So," Carter smirked. "Where's your suit?"

"I'm not going."

Carter was still grinning, but his eyes were suddenly hard. "What do you mean you're not going?"

Chuck's lip curled. "You really think I want to go to dinner with her _parents_? Please," he sneered. "Kill me now."

His best friend ground his teeth. "I just might." He glared up at him. "This is exactly what we want. I can't think of anything more perfect than an invitation to eat out with the Waldorfs. A few weeks ago her mother probably would have crossed the street if she saw you coming. So why the hell are you being like this?" He got to his feet, throwing the piece of paper at Chuck. He'd had about enough of this. "Don't mess this up. Not now." He shook his head; "Not when we're so close."

He stalked out, leaving Chuck to glower coldly after his retreating back.

* * *

><p>Eleanor and Harold were arguing again. Of course.<p>

Blair surveyed her reflection. The truth was, now that she actually had a plan – and a plan for revenge, the best kind – she felt more like herself again. Humiliated, yes. But now she had anger to focus on rather than her mistakes. And Blair Waldorf did anger like no one else. Real anger, real loathing were slow burning and satisfying, the thought of vengeance a sweet, delicious thrill that made her eyes dance and her skin glow.

There was still the issue of paying back the money – but for now she could focus on destroying Chuck. And perhaps being his wife would give her access to his funds. Wouldn't that be so perfect? If he lost it all because she'd used it to solve her own problems? After all, if there was one thing Chuck Bass was good at, it was making money. And Blair intended to squeeze him for every drop.

She smoothed down her navy dress, adjusting the lace collar. This was the reason Harold and Eleanor were arguing – Eleanor had invited Chuck to dinner.

She'd disappeared to France the day that Blair had agreed, calling them both useless and announcing she wanted nothing more to do with them. She'd been back a week later, after she'd calmed down, with a steely light in her eyes that told Blair she had a plan. No doubt she'd been doing her own evaluation of Chuck's assets and had come to the decision that he might be able to help them too.

Harold, oddly, had been the one to protest about the dinner.

Blair hadn't actually seen her supposed fiance since they'd become 'engaged'; and since it had just been her and Harold in the country, no move had been made to publicise or even officialise the match. Blair was willing to bet Eleanor would soon change that - depending on how this dinner went, of course.

They were supposed to be leaving for the restaurant to meet Chuck in five minutes. Blair neatly adjusted her curls, satisfied that she looked perfect, and then went downstairs to move her parents out of the door.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Sorry this is a shorter chapter; CB interaction to follow! Thanks so much for your reviews :) **


	12. Chapter 12

They were all seated at the table when Chuck arrived.

Eleanor seemed to tower over the other two in her elegant black dress, eyes narrowed on him as he approached. Harold, meanwhile, avoided looking at him at all. His creased eyes were focused on the pure white table cloth.

And she – she sat in the middle of them. Chuck didn't know what he'd been expecting. Maybe part of him was a little jolted she'd even turned up. Her appearance was flawless as ever – had he really thought it wouldn't be? Perhaps he'd been expecting her to ignore him. That perfect pale face to be even blanker than usual. Or her scowls and that look of disgust, intensified by a hundred.

What he hadn't expected was for her to _smile _at him. And not just a smile for the sake of her parents, either; she looked him straight in the eye, mouth curling.

Slowly, he took the seat opposite her. What was she up to?

"Charles. I'm so pleased you could join us." Eleanor sounded anything but.

Chuck didn't bother responding. Blair's head was lowered demurely, eyes scanning the menu in front of her. His gaze tracked the white curve of her throat; as though sensing his attention, she suddenly glanced up and smiled again. Her eyes glittered in the candle light.

"I must admit," Eleanor was saying, "Your proposal came as something of a shock to us."

"That's me," Chuck drawled. "Full of surprises." He was still watching Blair.

"So." Eleanor cleared her throat, spreading her hands on the table. It seemed she wasn't even going to wait for the entrees. "Tell us about yourself, Charles."

Blair enjoyed how grating each _Charles _was, and the look of distaste now on his face. She noted that even though he'd slicked his hair back, his eyes were faintly bruised like he hadn't been sleeping. She bet if she was close enough, she'd catch the scent of scotch.

"What do you want to know?"

Eleanor didn't like how bored he sounded. Her lips pinched a little. "I haven't seen you since you were a boy. How's your father?"

Of course. Blair sighed inwardly. It all fell into place now – Eleanor was after Bass Industries. Bart Bass, at least, was respectable. And well-known for being one of Manhattan's wealthiest. Eleanor was in for a let-down if she thought marriage to Chuck would get her any closer to that legacy.

Sure enough, Chuck didn't even glance up. "I wouldn't know."

"You wouldn't...know?" The woman's tone was sharp now. "And why is that?"

Chuck just arched an eyebrow. "Bart likes to pretend he doesn't have a son." His mouth quirked nastily. "And I'm more than happy to oblige."

Eleanor had frozen; Blair managed to repress a snort. Her poor mother.

"I see."

* * *

><p>The meal really couldn't have gone any worse. Chuck made no attempt to be nice, while Eleanor got more and more wound up and Harold seemed to have convinced himself he wasn't there at all.<p>

Blair, meanwhile, watched the whole exchange in silence. Her expression was impossible to read, Chuck realised. A deceptive calm. Her eyes rarely left him at all, hands folded neatly in her lap like a good little girl.

Eleanor got to her feet before the dessert menu had even been brought out.

"Excuse me." She shook off her husband's touch with a filthy look in his direction. No, this couldn't be salvaged. Chuck Bass was irredeemable. Her daughter's reputation would now be ruined, and they had no chance of securing more funds. The young man in front of her was a criminal - pure and simple. She hoped Harold was happy. "I'm not feeling too well. I think I'll catch a taxi home." Her husband hastily went to get to his feet too; "Sit _down,_ Harold. You should all have some dessert." She was going back to France first thing tomorrow - she certainly didn't want to be in Manhattan for this appalling sham of a wedding.

She didn't even bother saying goodbye to Chuck as she swept out.

If Chuck had been thinking rationally, he would actually have cared that he'd messed things up with the matriarch. Really, he should have capitalised on the Bart connection to set up a meeting between him and Eleanor. What better to convince his father he was serious? That Eleanor Waldorf herself was taking him seriously?

But then _she_ met his gaze again, and all Chuck could do was wonder what the hell she was playing at.

Harold cleared his throat. Uncomfortable as it had been with Eleanor there, he didn't really want to be left alone with Chuck and his daughter. Especially since Eleanor had been the one doing most of the talking. "You know, we don't really need to get-"

"I think I'll have the eclairs." Blair smiled sanguinely over at Chuck. "What do you think?"

Chuck studied her in silence. "I thought you didn't like them any more."

Her eyes shone. "On the contrary. I want something...sweet."

Harold shifted in his seat. "Good idea. Let's all have the eclairs." He may as well not even have been there; he signalled quickly to a waiter anyway. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

Chuck's eyes narrowed on Blair as she picked up her cutlery. Gone were the stiff, tiny bites. She lifted the fork to her mouth, tongue darting out to catch the cream first as she slid it between her lips. There was no mistaking it - it was seductive. And then her eyes met his. Her lips were pursed so deliberately as she tilted her head.

"Lost you appetite?" she enquired softly.

Was she seriously doing this in front of her father? And Harold was completely oblivious as he tucked into his own dessert. Hell, he still couldn't even look at either of them.

Chuck ignored the plate in front of him and continued to regard Blair. He really needed a drink right now. She was playing with him – that much was obvious. Had Harold told her about the game? But the man couldn't quite meet his daughter's gaze; he couldn't have done.

There was no doubt that she had some inkling of what Chuck had been up to. Why he'd pursued her. But, more importantly – what was _she_ up to? She was either scheming or she'd snapped. Chuck was far more inclined to go with the former.

"So." Blair set her fork down, leaning closer over the table as she smiled again. "I think that we should talk business. Don't you?"

Harold twitched a little. "Ah - business? Blair bear, maybe we should-"

"When do you want to set a date?" She addressed the question at Chuck and Chuck alone. So she was being serious then?

"As soon as possible," he murmured slowly, waiting to see how she reacted.

She smirked. "I couldn't agree more." Harold opened his mouth to protest, but Blair didn't seem to notice. "How about next month?"

Her father nearly choked on a mouthful of chocolate. "Blair - I - a month's engagement? That's hardly...er, proper." Why on earth had Eleanor left?

Blair's eyes were on Chuck, challenging him to respond.

He kept his face quite calm. "Are you sure a month is long enough to plan?"

She gave a little laugh. "All right, then. When do you propose?"

"Well," Harold attempted. "Isn't the usual length of an engagement one year? When your mother and I-"

Blair's eyes suddenly lit up. "How about Valentine's Day? That's nearly three months from now. Plenty of time to prepare."

Valentine's Day.

The most _romantic_ day of the year.

There was a savage light in her eyes as she regarded him.

Fabiano would be back in town come February, some part of Chuck's brain reminded him. He'd need the money by then. If he was married to Blair by then, Bart would have to see that he was serious.

"Perfect."

His voice sounded oddly distant.

"Good." She took a sip of her water, and he watched her lowered lashes as she drank. "Now," she smiled as her eyes sought his once more. "We need to discuss announcements and an engagment party."

* * *

><p>It turned out Chuck needn't have worried about Eleanor Waldorf's involvement. Not when the girl in front of him was planning everything he wanted herself. She'd even set up a meeting with Bart - she wanted to be introduced properly as his fiancee. It couldn't have worked out more perfectly, really.<p>

She stood up now, smiling as Harold helped her into her coat.

It wasn't till they were waiting in the foyer - just her and Chuck - and Harold was paying the bill. Then her expression met his, and he saw it. The cold light in her eyes.

"I hope you know what you're getting yourself in for, Bass." Her tone was light, her smile pure ice.

His gaze roved her face. "I think I can handle it." He kept his own voice expressionless as they stared at each other. He refused to even flinch.

Her mouth curled. "For your sake," she leaned closer, almost intimate - except her eyes were suddenly hard, her smile immobile - "I hope you can."

Her dark hair was midnight in the dim light of the foyer, and her skin pure white as those eyes gleamed up at him, liquid brown.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Tomorrow they made their public debut at the ballet.

"I look forward to it."

Her smile was still cold as she turned away and let Harold help her into a waiting taxi; and Chuck watched till she'd disappeared.

* * *

><p>"B!"<p>

The blonde rushed through the clusters of well-dressed people, ignoring the faintly disaproving looks as she jumped on her best friend, hugging her tight.

"You came."

Serena laughed, spinning her round. "And you look gorgeous!"

Blair wore a floor length dress in deep red, diamonds at her ears and neck with her curled hair pinned up. She was a stark contrast to glowing Serena's floaty blue dress; the blonde grinned as she linked their arms together.

"So, what's this news you had to tell me?"

Blair paused. Then, silently, she presented her hand to her best friend. A single diamond sparkled on her finger - Serena's eyes widened.

"Oh my God."

She seized the brunette's fingers, examining the flawless stone from every angle.

"It's beautiful!"

Chuck had presented it to her before they'd got here. She'd smiled at him as he'd slipped it on her finger; and her smile had been as sharp and perfect as the diamond itself.

Before Serena had a chance to ask her who the lucky groom was, though, Nate appeared.

Parents in tow.

Anne looked anything but pleased to see Serena, and she was distinctly frosty to Blair. She still had no idea why Eleanor had rescinded on their agreement all of a sudden. Her brow only creased further as her son's arm slipped to the small of Serena's back, and the blonde beamed up at him.

"I take it Lily won't be joining us?" she asked thinly.

It was a well-known fact that Lily had rarely ventured out from 'recuperation' - or whatever they were calling it now - since the unfortunate incident with her son.

Serena's blue eyes clouded for a moment. "No." Blair saw Nate's grip tighten, briefly; Serena managed a small smile just for him.

Anne positively winced as she saw the same thing, and she focused on Blair instead.

"And Eleanor?"

Blair's tone was crisp. "She's going back to France."

Another wrinkle in Anne's brow. "I see," she sighed.

"There you are."

Blair felt them all freeze as they saw who had just sauntered up. Serena actually did a double take. Chuck Bass, here? In a tuxedo? And the blonde's eyes looked about ready to pop out as his arm slid around Blair's waist.

"Shall we?"

"I'm sorry." Blair cleared her throat. "Let me introduce my fiance. Chuck Bass."

They were all too astonished to even respond properly; she could sense all of them, still gaping, as she moved in Chuck's hold and left with him in the direction of his box.

* * *

><p>He could feel the heat of her bare arm next to his as she watched the dancing figures below. Her eyes stayed fixed on them, even though he knew she was just as aware of several heads in the audience straining to peer into their box. Still she sat perfectly errect, studying the elaborate stage like those people didn't even exist. Like there weren't muted whispers under the rousing strains of classical music. Like Harold, on her other side, wasn't shifting uncomfortably in his bowtie.<p>

Chuck shared the man's sentiment - he didn't want him there either. Frankly, he didn't want to be anywhere near Harold Waldorf ever again. But apparently it wouldn't have been proper for their first entrance into society.

The music crescendoed; Chuck wasn't even pretending to watch the emaciated figures pirrouhette beneath him. Not when the line of a white throat kept catching the corner of his eye. A flash of diamonds, the sweep of her lashes in side profile - she ignored him.

It irritated him that she was so distracting. But he supposed it was the first time she'd ever had so much skin on show. If he tilted his head back, his eyes rested on the nape of her neck. He remembered the feel of it under his hand, not that long ago; caught in his grip, the soft curl of her hair. (Should have just taken her then and put a stop to all this absurdity).

"Is there a problem?"

Her voice was low but perfectly audible. Still her gaze never left the stage.

He watched her for a moment, and then rolled his eyes. "Other than your appalling tatse?" He scoffed. "I can't stand Tchaikovsky."

"He's one the of the great romantics," she murmured back. "I thought it would be...appropriate."

She felt his pause. "Appropriate." And then he was suddenly leaning into her so that their shoulders brushed and his breath caressed her neck. "You like stories about strange men taking sweet little girls in their nightgowns to 'magical' lands with life-sized rats?" There was a gap in the music, and he swore he heard her breath hitch, just for a second. "I'd say whoever wrote this was verging on paedophilic."

He couldn't see in the darkness, but he was sure there was a flush creeping along that pale skin. "You're disgusting." He laughed, quietly, and she stiffened next to him.

"You picked the ballet, Waldorf."

"Well." Still she didn't turn her head in the slightest. "At least Clara gets to wake up in the end." She sensed him frown, but kept watching the stage. "Once we're married, Bass...that's a luxury you won't have."

Her face broke into a smile as the first act ended, jumping to her feet and away from him to applaud vigorously.

* * *

><p>Nate had never been one for controlling his emotions, so he made no attempt to hide his frown as he and Serena approached Blair and...<em>Chuck<em> in the intermission. He didn't know what it was. But he was sure there was something so wrong about Chuck Bass' arm around Blair's waist. Chuck Bass here at all was wrong - at a _ballet? _Had he recognised the uneasy feeling, he would have realised it was the sense that the other man was somehow invading his territory.

"Hey." Serena bit her lip as she smiled, wondering how to make this less awkward. "So...congratulations!"

Blair smiled drolly back. "Thank you."

There was a pause; Serena gave Nate a pointed nudge.

"Right," he managed. "Yeah." He couldn't quite bring himself to congratulate the cold face of the man before him. He still felt like Chuck was laughing at him, and he didn't know why.

"Chuck." Serena managed to restrain the urge to start demanding answers from her best friend, and focused on him instead. "It's been a while," she smiled. "How have you been?"

"Actually," he reflected, "It hasn't been that long." His voice was dry - he'd seen her a few weeks ago in Gimlet, after all.

Serena smiled again, confused; Nate was still frowning in equal confusion. Only Blair knew exactly what he was talking about. He felt rather than saw her glare.

The blonde cleared her throat. "But this is a susprise." She glanced between the two of them with another nervous smile.

"Yeah," Nate put in, rudely. He was still staring at Chuck. "We didn't even know you and Blair were speaking."

"Oh, we've been doing a lot more than speaking."

Blair opened her mouth in outrage; but for once, Chuck didn't seem to notice. His focus was on Nate. And there was a cold glint in his eye as he regarded the other man.

Nate drew himself upright. "I don't think that's appropriate, Mr. Bass. I think you should apologise to Blair."

Blair repressed an eye roll - she understood Nate's intentions; but really. Serena, meanwhile, gave him a look to tell him to cool it.

"I'm sure Chuck was just-"

"Blair." She felt his grip suddenly tighten around her waist, though his eyes were still on Nate. She wondered what on earth was getting to him so much - she must have underestimated how much the two of them disliked each other. "Have I offended you?" His tone was quite calm, but his lip curled.

She gave a little sigh. "No more than usual. Darling."

Chuck tilted his head. "How about you stop talking on my fiancee's behalf, Archibald?"

It was the way he said _fiancee_ that got to Nate so much. The way he was holding Blair; and the way, he was sure, he'd just insulted Serena. It was that dangerous look in his eye that Nate didn't want anywhere near the two girls he cared most about.

"How about you-"

"Ok!" Serena quickly grabbed Nate's arm. "You know, I think your parents wanted us to find them in the interval. We should go."

Howard was leaning aginst the bar with Harold, clearly avoiding his wife, and Anne was choosing to ignore her son's embarassing plus one - but Serena shepherded Nate off in their direction anyway.

"Meet me in a few minutes?" She addressed it at Blair and Blair alone before dragging her fiance off.

Blair could hear Nate's protests and Serena's pleas for him to just drop it the whole way - the two of them never had been much good at subtlety.

Her eyes slid to Chuck; his expression was still hard, his arm still holding her. She smiled up at him for the sake of the onlookers and pretended to adjust his bowtie.

"What the hell was that?" she asked evenly. Her mouth was still smiling - her eyes were not.

"I could ask you the same thing." He sounded just as cold as he had a few seconds ago. "Why exactly does Archibald feel such a need to protect you?"

"Why?" Blair bit, sacrcastic. "Are you jealous?"

"I just think it's pathetic, is all." His lip was still curled. "Clearly the man only wants something if he can't have it."

She gave him a slightly odd look. What on earth was he talking about? The only thing Nate wanted - had ever wanted, really - was Serena.

Chuck scoffed at her expression. "Please. Don't pretend it doesn't make you happy whenever precious Nathaniel dives in to save you."

Blair's lips thinned dangerously. There were still people watching, so she kept her voice low. "You seriously think I need _saving_?"

"Obviously Archibald does. Or at least that if he tries you might remember why you were so madly in love with him to begin with."

The word _love _was like a slap across her face. "I know you must find this hard to understand," her teeth were gritted now under her perfect smile; "But Nate is in love with Serena - and, unlike you, that means something to him. Unlike you, Nate doesn't lose something if it's out of his sight for five minutes."

Chuck glowered at her. (Why did hearing her defend _Nate _get to him so much?) "You're telling me he's being this _protective_ out of the kindness of his heart?" His brow arched in obvious disbelief.

Blair rolled her eyes in irritation. Out of a misguided sense of loyalty, yes. And not just because they'd nearly been engaged once upon a time. Blair didn't want Nate's attempts to defend her - or whatever it was that he'd been doing - but she did understand them. It was just Nate.

"You don't know him," was all she snapped. Because Chuck_ didn't_. He might have a sharp sense of observation, but he hadn't grown up with Nate. He'd picked Carter instead.

In fact, Blair knew, it had taken breaking up with Nate before _she _worked him out. His efforts to protect her had never been born out desire or jealousy. They were because Nate was a good person. Something she could probably never comprehend.

"Well," Chuck sneered. "I intend to keep it that way."

He was anrgy, and what made him even angrier was the fact that he wasn't sure why. All he knew was that if Nate tried to cross his path again - if Nate tried to _protect _Blair from him, more specifically - then he was going to make golden boy's life hell.

(And maybe what was really pissing him off was the idea that Blair needed protecting from him - even though he himself had vowed the same thing).

Blair was more than capable of protecting herself.

* * *

><p>Howard Archibald was watching Chuck and Blair from over his sparkling water. Most of the people in the room were doing the same - there wasn't much else to do. How funny, to think that his son had nearly married her.<p>

He glanced over at Harold.

The other man was focused on his own drink; and he looked exhausted. Age was clearly getting to him. Something Howard took pride in about himself was that he always made sure to keep young. Perhaps he should invite Harold on his morning runs with him.

"I take it Eleanor won't be back for a while?"

"No," Mr. Waldorf sighed. If at all - what reason did she have to come back to Manhattan now? She had her company in France, and he was pretty sure she'd much rather forget the mess of her family across the ocean.

Howard shook his head. "Ah, to be young and in love." Blair was smiling up at Chuck now, tweaking his bowtie. In all honesty, he had no idea what he was actually talking about. He'd married Anne for the Van der Bilt money. He could just see Anne now, her occassional glances of despair at the dark couple and then at her son.

Howard wasn't too fussed about the whole Serena thing. Once upon a time, he might have wanted the Waldorf name for all their money - but the van der Woodsens would do just as well. And at least Nate seemed happy.

"Right," Harold agreed. He still wasn't even looking at his daughter. He had no idea what Howard was talking about either.

* * *

><p>"Finally!"<p>

Serena tugged Blair into the bathroom, rounding on the smaller girl now that the two of them were alone. Her blue eyes were wide.

"Tell me everything."

Blair sighed. "There's not much to tell."

Serena made a noise of exasperation. "Ok, well how about you start by telling me how you started seeing_ Chuck Bass_? And kept it a secret from me, by the way?" Her hands were still on Blair's shoulders, refusing to let her go.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Blair admitted. "I didn't really tell anyone."

The blonde paused. "So it was a secret romance?"

Romance? Blair nearly laughed. But the expression on Serena's face was serious.

"I...guess so."

Serena had understanding written all over her. "I know Eleanor probably disaproves," she said, gently. "And i know the reputation Chuck has - who doesn't?" She squeezed Blair's hand. "But I trust you. You're good at working people out. And if you really loved him, B, you didn't have to hide it from me." She smiled sadly. "I'd be the last person to judge - you know that."

"I do," Blair agreed, voice a little stiff.

"You're my best friend. And I'm happy as long as you are." She studied her; and Blair wanted to shrink away from those blue eyes and all their love. "Are you happy?"

Blair swallowed.

How on earth could she tell the girl in front of her that this was all about revenge? That love didn't even come into it? Well, she reflected - she would be happy. Once Chuck Bass was destroyed.

She managed a smile.

"Yes. I am."

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Thank all so so much for your reviews! I'm so pleased that so many people are enjoying this; I'm having great fun writing it :) Also, the ballet referenced is The Nutcracker. I go to see it every year, I'm actually a huge fan - it's just I felt it fit the story! **


	13. Chapter 13

They were all watching her, surreptitious glances, even as they pretended to get on with the tasks they were supposed to be doing.

The boss' girl.

Her heels clicked as she moved from employee to employee, a crisp smile as she greeted each of them by name - and those sharp brown eyes didn't miss a thing. Gimlet's barman cuffed one of the younger guys round the ear; his gaze was fixed on her diminuitive figure, tracking the narrow waist that her belted coat didn't quite hide. The truth was, none of them were used to seeing respectably dressed girls. Not ones that pretty or pure, anyway. And not linked to their boss.

"Watch it, Sammy," the barman muttered.

The kid was new. Probably didn't know that even if Chuck Bass was currently occupied with some associate in the corner of the room, there was nothing that would escape his notice. Particularly where his fiancee was concerned.

They weren't the only men in the room watching Blair Waldorf. From his miserable position by the lavatories - he was supposed to be mopping, of all things - Dan Humphrey was entirely unable to focus on his task. How could he concentrate when the girl he loved was a few feet away, and about to married to a monster? He couldn't understand how it had happened. What had Chuck Bass done to her?

He gazed mournfully over now, lost in impossible dreams of whisking her away and into safety. He would be her defender - he alone would save her from the loveless marriage she was trapped in.

And still she didn't even look in his direction.

He wished he hadn't fallen in love with someone so selfish. But he had to admit there was poetry to it; wasn't love supposed to be a cruel mistress? The hardest part of loving Blair Waldorf was that she didn't want to be saved. Or, at least, she'd never admit that she did. Dan Humphrey was sure he was the only person who'd discovered her vulnerable side.

He remembered that day she'd climbed into her car, snapping orders at him like always; he'd glanced in his rearview mirror and he'd seen them. She'd been perfectly silent - and on those perfect white cheeks, glistening in the night, silver tear tracks. He doubted anyone had ever seen her cry before. He wouldn't even have known she was crying if he hadn't happened to glance round at that precise moment. Fate, he was sure of it. He'd gone home that night and hadn't slept just thinking about those tears. About her perfect stillness. All he'd wanted to do, ever since, was save her.

And she'd never let him.

He watched her as she approached Chuck. Whoever he'd been talking to was quick to melt away - but Blair stopped him, holding out her hand to introduce herself. Chuck watched the exchange in silence. Blair turned to him with a cool smile, hand resting briefly on his shoulder; she went to pull away but he caught her suddenly, and Dan felt an unhappy kick as he saw the man's hand on her waist, his lips against her ear. Whatever he said made her smile.

Dan didn't see the cold gleam in her eye as she removed herself from Chuck's grasp and moved to complete her lap of the room. He was just wishing, miserably, that he had some way of freeing her from whatever spell Chuck Bass had her under.

* * *

><p>Georgina was waiting round the corner as Blair exited Gimlet; the two girls fell into each other's pace as they continued down the icy street. They received a few appreciative glances from the males in the area - it wasn't the most reputable - that they both ignored.<p>

"How are you girls doing?" One of the sleazes (who no doubt worked for Carter and Chuck) didn't seem to get the hint. Or he was enjoying the sight of their flawless dark curls, Blair in cream and Georgie in black, too much to care.

"Move," Georgie snapped. They both swept past him without so much as a glance in his direction. "So," she added in an undertone to Blair. "Anything?"

"He met with a Mr. Brooks," the other girl sighed. "They were talking about access to some kind of account - something about withrdrawing money."

"Legal?"

Blair shook her head. "There was nothing incriminating."

"Well," Georgie muttered. "I've been following Baizen like we planned. It looks like he goes to a lot of games that he doesn't tell Chuck about. And he's sleeping with two of Chuck's favourite hookers."

Blair wrinkled her nose. "I didn't need to know that."

Her friend smirked, faintly. She didn't tell Blair what else she'd heard; Chuck hadn't visited any of his usual girls in a while. Rumour had it he'd been in too much of a foul mood to indulge in his usual pleasures.

"I've finished taking stock," Blair informed her. "I should have worked out exactly how much he's worth by the end of today. I just need to find out some more about his outer borough ventures."

Georgie nodded. "So we need to keep going." She spared the other brunette a glance. "Don't worry. We'll get him."

Blair's eyes narrowed with the same level of vindiction. "Oh, I'm not worried."

* * *

><p>"You. You're on look-out duty tonight."<p>

Chuck didn't even bother looking at the young employee as he sauntered out of the room, his order thrown over his shoulder as he buttoned up his coat. His voice was quite cool.

Sammy visibly blanched; everyone knew that look-out duty was the worst, especially at this freezing time of year. Not to mention the most dangerous. No one wanted to be standing outside, ready to get caught first if the law enforcement showed up at the establishment.

The barman watching the exchange felt a twinge of pity for the young man. He shook his head slightly and went back to polishing the glasses.

* * *

><p>It was Christmas Eve – the last chance some men would get to cut loose before they were forced to endure holiday-induced <em>festive cheer <em>with their families.

Chuck and Carter had no such worries; Christmas had little effect on their liquor cupboard or the number of desperate girls looking to make a buck.

Snow had started to fall on the bustling streets of Manhattan, but inside the room was as dim and smoky as ever. Blues still crooned from the corner, accompanied by the low murmur of men's voices as they drowned their sorrows. Chuck was tilted back in his chair, glass in hand and face in shadow as he half listened to Carter's conversation. They were all snickering about something – his lip was curled too, but there was nothing particularly amusing about the joke.

He didn't even need to turn around.

He heard the door click open; the brief lull in male banter as heads craned and a few were raised from their drinks to glance round. The brisk snap of her footsteps – no one here would ever walk with that much purpose.

She came to a stop behind him, ignoring the looks from the men at the table.

"Gentlemen."

"Waldorf," he sighed. He could sense her presence at his back, the faint hint of her perfume – and still he refused to turn and look at her like the others were.

"Chuck." Her voice was pleasant. "I need you. Now."

One of the men sniggered – but his grin faded as Chuck's cold eyes landed on him. Quickly, he dropped his gaze from the girl behind Bass' chair. A few of the other men stopped staring too.

"And why is that?"

Her hand was suddenly on his collar, her head bent into his so that he could feel the curve of her cheek. "We have dinner with your father. Sweetie."

Finally, he glanced at her. As he turned she was caught in his hold, and as he studied her she saw that his brow was furrowed. "Really." Bart had so far ignored all of his messages, and even when Blair called through personally he'd ended up 'rescheduling' their dinner. She could see the obvious skepticism in Chuck's eyes now.

She smiled. "Really."

His mouth pursed. "Well. I guess I'll get my coat."

His hand slid to the small of her back as he got to his feet, ignoring Carter's smirk and the still unsubtle looks as he steered her out of the room and had Arthur pull the car around.

He looked at her sideways while the vehicle made its way down Fifth Avenue.

She was gazing silently out of the window; he spared the Christmas lights outside an idle glance. He barely noticed them any more.

"So why aren't you at home hanging up your stocking?" he drawled. "Or have you been a bad girl this year?"

She ignored this, but she seemed to see the festive decorations for the first time too. People were making their way home, bundled up against the cold and laden down with packages – her gaze landed on a little girl with rosy cheeks clinging to her parents' hands. She snapped back to Chuck before she could start thinking of gingerbread and warm blankets and the ridiculous, giddy excitement of a ridiculous magic that had never existed.

"I assume you'll be spending Christmas alone again this year?"

He'd hardly call a bottle of scotch alone. "And I assume Eleanor won't be bothering to come back from France?"

Blair just snorted. Her mother hadn't been home for Christmas in three years – and the day was much worse when she was there anyway. Without her there were still hideous parties that Blair was expected to attend, but she could spend the time laughing at other people's fashion disasters with Georgina.

Not this year, though. She'd thought that because Harold was finally home the two of them could have Christmas together. At home, for once. But her father had made his apologies and admitted that he had work to see to. Blair had never known him to work in the holidays – but he always seemed to be busy lately.

And now it was too late to get invitations to any parties, and Georgie would be in Westchester with her parents. She needed to butter them up because they were threatening to cut off her allowance.

"You probably won't miss her anyway," Chuck cut in. It took Blair a second to realise he was still referring to Eleanor. "I suppose the Archibalds have kindly invited you to spend Christmas with them?" His tone was quite calm, but it didn't entirely disguise his sneer at the family's name.

Well, one Archibald had invited her. Anne would have found it hard since she wasn't actually speaking to Blair anymore. Serena would be there this Christmas too, so she'd been all for it - but Blair couldn't quite stomach a day of her best friend's glow and Anne's cold stares. Christmas, like all family holidays, had been the most miserable day of the year at the van der Woodsens ever since Eric. Serena deserved at least some happiness now; it was far better Blair just stayed out of the way.

"Not all of us have to pay for company during the holidays," she responded acidly. "I wouldn't expect you to understand." She turned her gaze away from him and back out the window. And she focused on the white gleam of snow rather than the sickly glow of yet more Christmas lights. She could spend the day plotting now, anyway.

He looked at her pinched lips for a moment. He posture was too rigid. He pursed his mouth, and said nothing. (What difference did it make to him if she was alone at Christmas anyway?) If she had any sense, she'd spend the day getting drunk too. Her hands were still clasped too tightly in her lap.

It wasn't till they were striding through the marble lobby of the Palace that he grabbed her arm to slow her down, pulling her into him.

His voice was low and almost dangerous now that they were in his father's territory. "How exactly did you manage this?" He could already feel that dull kick of loathing just at the sight of all the perfectly symmetrical pillars.

A smile flickered across her face, which remained otherwise blank even seconds from his. They were at the entrance of the hotel restaurant now.

"Bart's eight o'clock meeting just got cancelled."

Chuck felt his eyebrows arch, her arm still in his grasp. "You're ambushing him?" He couldn't help it – he was impressed. Not that he'd ever let her know as much.

"No." She neatly removed herself from his hold. "_We're_ ambushing him." She turned to the man at the door with a smile. "We have a table for three. Bass, please."

* * *

><p>To say that Bart Bass was displeased to see his son instead of the Swiss investor he'd been expecting would have been an understatement.<p>

He remained frosty even as Blair made him shake her hand and took the seat opposite him – his gaze was still narrowed on Chuck as though this was somehow all his doing. Chuck resisted the urge to snarl back; he needed to impress the man. It didn't help that he knew damn well Blair was up to something. Apparently it _was_ possible to know someone too well.

This dinner was going to be a disaster. He could feel it every bone of his body.

"Mr. Bass," Blair turned to him once the waiter had taken their orders. She poured herself some water, arm brushing Chuck's as she did so. "How have you been?"

"Fine." The man's tone was curt – he didn't bother addressing his son. "How's your mother?"

Blair smiled sweetly. "I'm afraid She's refusing to come home." Her gaze flickered to Chuck, back to the old man. "I can't think why."

Bart's brow was heavy. "No." He finally glanced at the engagement ring on Blair's finger, though Chuck knew he'd read about it in the papers. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Thank you," Blair beamed. She slipped her hand over Chuck's, leaning affectionately into him. "I must be the _luckiest _girl in the world." Bart's eyes narrowed; she didn't seem to notice. "Really, Mr. Bass. You never told me Charles was such a romantic." She looked up at _Charles, _right into his black glare. "His proposal swept me off my feet – it just came out of nowhere! I guess he's a big softie at heart." She gave him a little nudge. "Aren't you, angel?"

Bart's mouth was a grim line. And with his father watching, Chuck couldn't respond. He forced a hard smile instead, knuckles tightening under her hand.

Waiting for their food seemed to stretch into hours. Chuck managed to steer the conversation in the direction of small talk, while his father was uncommunicative as ever. And for every monosyllable he uttered, Blair would pipe up with a cheerful observation, always with a smile and a little glance at Chuck. He'd already seen the light in her eyes; already knew that it spelt trouble. She was enjoying this.

She did notice that Bart made no effort whatsoever to engage with his son. At all. (Well, what else had she expected?)

She proceeded to make a fuss of cutting up Chuck's meat for him once it arrived, waving the fork in front of his face as she tried to feed him. She insisted on giving him large portions of her meal, too, helping herself to his vegetables while she was at it - "You know Charles. He just loves sharing."

She went to give him another bright look, but suddenly found his hand on her knee under the table; and the hardness of his grip was clear. _Enough. _

No. It was enough when she said it was enough. He'd signed himself up for this the moment he'd picked her to manipulate. She smiled over at Bart as she slipped one of her hands under too and started tracing Chuck's fingers. She felt his jaw clench next to her as her fingers slid up his wrist. It was patently obvious to the man across the table that they were now holding hands.

"Mr. Bass," Blair chirped, "I can't tell you how happy I am that we're going to be family_._" The flinch from both Basses at the mention of family would have been enough to shut anyone else up._ "_I'm always telling Charles how much I envy your relationship." She looked between the two of them, still smiling. Venomous anticipation filled her veins as she pressed on, twisting the knife as deep as she could; "It's obvious how proud you are of your son. And you really should be – just look at all his accomplishments!" Chuck was gripping his cutlery so tight, now, that his knuckles were white. "I know Charles can't wait to follow in your footsteps and take the reins of Bass Industries."

The sharp grating of metal against china rang out as Chuck's hand jerked, knife cutting the plate instead of his beef.

Bart set his own knife and fork down. "That's enough." His tone was flat. "I have to rearrange my meeting." But he was talking to his son and not Blair. He climbed to his feet and signalled a waiter over, already ignoring both of them.

"Father-" His voice was unbearably tight; Bart cut him off with a brusque shake of his head.

"Save it. Take this ridiculous charade to someone who cares."

And then he was gone.

Blair tried to relish in the sheer, bitter loathing emanating from the man next to her. Chuck wanted her to be his wife? Then this was exactly what he was going to get.

(Except something about Bart's coldness made some small part of her flinch, and it hadn't even been aimed in her direction).

Chuck turned his eyes on her. They were burning – so dark, and so empty that for a moment she almost found it hard to breathe.

But she kept her expression perfectly even as she picked up her cutlery once more. Raised a single eyebrow. "Was it something I said?"

"What the _hell_ was that?"

Someone else might have faltered at the black fury in his voice. But Blair – Blair made herself look him square in the eye. Like she couldn't see the expression on his face. "I don't know, Chuck." She smoothed her napkin. "I guess your father doesn't want to waste his time on you either."

Chuck's chair snarled against the polished floor as he stood and walked out. He didn't look at her again.

Blair took a slow bite of her meal and tried to tell herself that she was having difficulty swallowing because it was poorly cooked.

* * *

><p>Her stomach was still churning as she headed into the cold night. Her eyes swept the lobby's pillars like Chuck's had done and she felt the same sudden wave of hatred. She hadn't been able to manage another bite - still she felt sick. She had no idea why. The air outside was so bitter that it made her throat sting and her eyes tear. She grit her teeth and pulled her coat closer, and it took her several moments to realise that someone was calling her name.<p>

She turned to find a very anxious Dan Humphrey coming after her. Great. That was _all _she needed. He took one look at her white face – at the fact that she was walking alone – and started to rant. He couldn't help it; it was tumbling out now, all of it.

"He left you? He _left_ you to make your own way home? How – Blair, how can you possibly be with this guy? How can you let him treat you like this?" Blair said nothing. Blair didn't want to think about _him_ and that look in his eyes. Because then she might realise she recognised it; that she _knew _that look, from Eleanor and from a boy that -

"He can't do this to you, Blair!" Humphrey had worked himself up into quite the self-righteous rage. "He can't just get away with it. It isn't fair!"

A high laugh escaped Blair before she could help it; she barely recognised the sound. "_Fair_, Humphrey? Just how _clueless _are you?"

Nothing was fair. Nothing had ever been fair. Fair didn't even come into it.

Dan blinked a little. He stared at her, and then realised that Chuck had obviously hurt her so much she'd lost all faith in the world. Of course she didn't think anything was fair - how could she, when she'd obviously just realised how awful her fiance was?

No more, he vowed. He was going to make sure she didn't get hurt again – he was going to _fix_ her. That was all Blair needed. Someone to fix her. She needed to know that not everyone was like Chuck Bass.

"Blair," he said, very gently. Understanding. "I can help you."

Blair wasn't listening. How could Humphrey be stupid enough to think there was any justice in the world when she wasn't even allowed the pleasure of revenge? Revenge that was rightfully hers – revenge that she should have been _enjoying. _Chuck Bass had ruined her life. Why the hell shouldn't she – couldn't she – ruin his?

She was Blair Waldorf. There was nothing she couldn't do. She _would not _be weak.

"Please," Dan was insisting. "Let me help you."

A cold feeling swept the nausea from her veins as she glanced at him again. She knew exactly what she was capable of. Forget Bart Bass. (Forget the expression on Chuck's face and that painful lump in her throat).

And as she looked at Dan Humphrey, something occurred to her. Help her. He _could _help her.

"All right," she said slowly.

Dan did a double take; he hadn't expected her to actually agree. Not so quickly, anyway. He'd envisioned insisting for a lot longer – pushing until she finally broke down and let her in. And then -

"I need you to do some investigating for me."

He was so startled by her request that he didn't notice the odd tone to her voice. The careful blankness, the new hardness in her eyes.

"Uh, investigating?" He shook his head. "That's not exactly what I me-"

"You're on the inside, Humphrey. You actually work for Chuck. And I need you to find some things out for me."

She didn't even notice his weak attempts to protest – she was too busy telling herself. Forcing away the odd hurt in her chest and the image of Chuck's face. She repeated it, again.

Blair Waldorf was not weak – and she wasn't finished. Far from it. She would see this through to the end.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Thank you so so much for your reviews :) I had meant to update yesterday, but for some annoying reason the login page wasn't working. Next update should be soon, though. I hope you don't hate Blair too much in this chapter! I also wanted to respond to a couple of comments about Serena - it wasn't my intention to portray her as a stupid blonde who knows nothing about her best friend. The reason she's so prepared to believe that Blair loves Chuck is that she honestly really just wants her to be happy, and I think that Serena is an optimist who tries to believe the best in every situation. And in this fic she's been a little out of the loop with the whole Eric thing, so she doesn't really know about Chuck Bass - she hasn't been following him like Blair has. Hope that makes sense, anyway; Serena has her flaws, but I do love her! Sorry for the long author's note :) **


	14. Chapter 14

Dan left the Waldorf penthouse, for the first time, not because he'd been ordered out. He left, for the first time, actually feeling happy. Or almost happy. He'd been able to help.

All week he'd done his best to do some digging. He wasn't a natural at extracting information. Not subtly, anyway. But he had an advantage working in his favour – he was a nobody. And people didn't bother paying attention to nobodys. He realised he was so used to living life on the sidelines, ignored, that he was actually quite good at observing.

He'd written down everything he'd heard – and he'd surprised himself, actually, by just how much he'd enjoyed the process. Observing, taking notes; it had made him feel...important. Relevant. Almost like something a journalist would do.

Dan Humphrey – a journalist? The problem with journalism, though, was that there was nothing personal about it. He'd had more fun writing when he got to include his own judgements on the situations. Sadly Blair hadn't been very interested in his own opinion.

(But maybe if he found a topic where it was appropriate to do so, she'd read it and be surprised. And that led him to a daydream in which he wrote and published an anonymous book about a prickly brunette and unrequited love that she would someday read and-)

A loud horn snapped him out of his reverie; he'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he'd stepped on to the road without looking.

"Watch where you're going, moron!"

All right. So he was a long way off being a famous author yet.

Blair had been pleased with something he'd found, anyway. He'd overheard two of the doormen talking about it – apparently a couple of years ago, Chuck and Carter had had some kind of fall out. Some kind of deal, and something to do with Chuck double-crossing Carter.

Personally, Dan didn't see how it was relevant since it was obviously water under the bridge now.

But Blair had stilled when she'd heard it. Just for a moment. And Georgina had jumped on it straight away. Georgina was the only part of the experience that Dan hadn't enjoyed – he hadn't anticipated the other girl being there. Something about her blue eyes made him uneasy. Plus she openly mocked everything he did. She'd been the one to dismiss him, too.

But one day, perhaps, Dan would write something and no one would ever dismiss him again. One day. Perhaps he'd go home tonight and just _write. _He didn't know why he liked the idea so much. Dan Humphrey - a writer.

* * *

><p>Chuck hadn't spoken to Blair in several days. She'd stopped dropping by Gimlet and the Empire, since she now had Dan to report back to her. They were supposed to have been attending a few society events together – except Chuck was always busy. Blair was always secretly relieved. For no other reason than she couldn't stand his company, of course.<p>

But this was one event that neither of them could miss.

Their engagement party.

"So it's definitely happening?" Georgina sighed as she fixed her hair.

Blair hadn't heard from Chuck in so long that the other girl had suggested maybe he was calling the whole thing off. Blair had been – _irritated_ – beyond belief at the mere suggestion. Georgie had pointed out that Chuck pulling out would technically mean they'd won; but it didn't. Blair wanted to see him suffer. The idea of it being over had made her feel strangely empty. And that emptiness made her feel even more irritated. She needed vengeance. Besides, she didn't believe for a second that Chuck would give in that quickly. Would he? No - Chuck Bass did not get to walk away like that. Not ever.

"He said he's made all the arrangements," Blair replied now. She'd received a message from her fiance yesterday informing her that the party would be held in his suite, beginning at seven. Nothing else.

Georgina rolled her eyes. "How delightful."

Blair got up from her vanity, finally ready - Georgie spared her a critical glance and then smirked.

"Well, you look ready to kill."

Her dress was green velvet; floor length and backless, pulled in tight at the waist with pearl brocading. Her dark curls were heavy at the nape of her neck, kohl rimming her eyes and her lips dark.

Blair studied her reflection and her mouth twisted in agreement. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she wouldn't be the only one ready to kill – not after what she'd pulled with Bart. Chuck excelled in revenge. And here she was, heading straight into the lair of the beast himself.

She straightened her shoulders. "Let's go."

Good thing she wasn't so bad at revenge herself.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure that's a good idea?"<p>

Carter's tone was sardonic as Chuck poured himself a glass of scotch. He just gave the man a look and downed it. His tux was immaculate, his hair perfectly combed – and his eyes like flint.

"I told you I didn't want this ridiculous party," was all he bit.

Carter rolled his eyes. "And I told you – you need to focus. You're supposed to be a happy couple. How's Bart going to believe that when you haven't spoken a word to your precious fiancee since Christmas?"

Chuck had heard that Blair Waldorf was taken ill on Christmas day; he hoped she'd spent the day suffering, alone, in bed.

(But he knew she hadn't been ill at all. Just alone.)

"Bart doesn't believe it anyway."

Baizen sighed in frustration. "So, what? Are you backing out on me now? You just want to give up?"

There was a chime from the elevator – the unmistakeable click of heels. His gaze landed on her the second she appeared, and the two of them faced each other across the room. Silent. He dragged his eyes across her figure, settling on her face as he raised another glass of scotch to his lips.

His response was little more than a snarl.

"No."

* * *

><p>"So let's all raise a glass." Carter had even provided non-alcoholic beverages for the guests to toast to – it had been a while since the glasses in Chuck's suite had seen anything of the kind. But then it had also been a while since his suite had contained so many respectable women. Most of the husbands were feigning complete ignorance to the debauchery attached to the place and its owner as they held their wives' arms. "To Blair and Chuck."<p>

Harold found himself wishing there was something stronger as he avoided looking at the happy couple.

Blair's smile was fixed in place as her gaze landed on Chuck because she didn't want to look at Carter's smug face any more. Chuck seemed to share that sentiment – he was knocking back another glass of something that definitely wasn't water.

"Mr. Bass." A clean-shaven lawyer – Chuck knew him because he used Gimlet's back rooms to have loud sex with Louisa, his children's nanny – clapped him on the back. "You're a lucky man." His gaze loomed over the smooth skin of Blair's back. "A very lucky man indeed."

"And you're a bore." Chuck didn't even bother looking at him. He felt the dull burn of his drink as he refilled his glass. "No wonder Louisa and your wife are both sleeping with Mr. Worthington."

The lawyer turned puce, but Chuck was out of gin.

Blair caught his arm as he made for the bar – he wasn't even bothering to be subtle.

"What do you think you're doing?" Her voice was a sharp hiss. She'd seen the whole exchange – that was the fifth person Chuck had insulted in the space of as many minutes.

Chuck glanced at her, at her fingers on his sleeve. His eyes were hollow and his lip permanently twisted. She was close enough to smell the alcohol on him as his gaze burned, briefly, into her.

"Just making small-talk."

He dragged her hand off him and went back to the bar. All she could do was glare at his retreating back.

Chuck could feel Carter glaring at him too – but he could care less. This was all fucking Carter's fault anyway. And Bart wasn't even here. Of course he wasn't. Why the hell would he bother showing up to his son's engagement party? Chuck was glad; he didn't have to waste time smiling and shaking hands now.

* * *

><p>"B!" Serena squeezed her best friend's hands with a warm beam. She looked beautiful as always in a white ruffled dress. "This party is amazing."<p>

Blair wondered for a moment which party the blonde was at; then, glancing round, she realised that the other guests did seem to be having a good time. The ones who hadn't tried to talk to Chuck, anyway. She'd been too busy shooting daggers at him to notice.

"I'll say one thing for Chuck – he knows how to throw a party." Serena had been trying very hard to find the good in Chuck that Blair obviously saw. She elbowed Nate again as he muttered something under his breath, then directed a bright glance around the room. "Where is he, anyway?"

Blair knew exactly where the Basstard was. She saw Serena's smile fade, a little, and Nate's slow frown as they spotted him too. The bottle in his hand was too golden brown to be anything other than liquor.

"Oh." Serena paused.

Blair forced a smile. "I think he's just nervous. You know how it is." She was going to kill him. She was going to _kill _him.

"No," Nate said, blunt. His handsome features were still darkened in a scowl as he watched Chuck. "I was never nervous at our engagement party."

Serena frowned pointedly at him and was quick to reassure Blair again. "Well, I know I was." Serena had also been drunk at their engagement party. "Anne still thought we were joking about the whole thing, remember?" Anne had also noticed Serena's inebriated state, despite how quick Nate was to cover for her.

Nate exchanged a faint, reluctant grin with her now. Blair reflected that only Nate and Serena would find that _funny. _

"Don't worry." Serena pressed Blair's fingers like she could somehow press all her encouragement into them. "He has nothing to be nervous about."

Blair nodded like she agreed. On the contrary, she thought savagely. If he didn't stop right now then he'd have _plenty _to be nervous about. Chuck ignored her narrowed gaze and knocked back another glass. She might just start by smashing that bottle around his awful head.

* * *

><p>"Chuck! How are you, buddy?"<p>

Nate was in the middle of getting meringue for himself and Serena – she was tackling the other dessert table – when he saw the weaselly looking guy slink up to Chuck. Nate's brow creased in distaste. He looked exactly like the sort of person Chuck would associate with. Chuck who was still hitting the drink without any concern for his fiancee.

Well, Nate had no desire to overhear their conversation. He went to set the dessert server down and move away – and the meringue wobbled dangerously. Oh man. He didn't want to take the whole thing down.

"I just came to offer my condolences," the guy was saying.

And the white tower in front of Nate wasn't looking any more stable. This was a tad awkward. He knew he should have gone for the profiteroles on the other table. Although Serena could be a lot clumsier than him at times, so maybe not.

"...How thoughtful." Chuck's drawl sounded carelessly slurred. "But I don't remember inviting you to this party. Or to talk to me."

"Hey, I'd be getting as drunk as you if I was facing married life. Don't blame you at all, my friend."

Nate paused, frowning. He didn't snoop as a general rule – but he found himself following the man's gaze to where Blair stood too. She was in the middle of polite conversation with an elderly couple; he felt a brief pang of affection for her and that stiff smile.

"Specially to someone like Blair goddamn Waldorf. I mean, just look at her. Got to be the most uptight bitch in the whole room."

Nate felt a wave of anger on his friend's behalf. Where did this guy get off, saying things like that about her? Sure, she was uptight. It was what they all loved about her. He went to turn on the bastard, meringue forgotten – but an icy voice cut him off.

"That's my fiancee you're talking about."

It was the anger that made Nate pause. Chuck hadn't even raised his voice, but the dangerous tilt was obvious. However drunk he was.

"Come on, buddy-"

"Let me make this clear." Chuck spoke very slowly. "You are not my buddy. I hate you. Carter hates you. Everyone in this room hates you, Dalgaard. Which is why you weren't invited." He paused, and the cold menace was almost palpable. "Now get out of my sight."

Nate blinked as the man sloped off. Had Chuck Bass just -

There was a muffled crack. It took him a second to realise that the meringue had collapsed.

Chuck half turned, lip curling as he took in the ruined dessert and Nate's frown of confusion. (Partially because this never happened to him. Or to his hundred dollar suits). "Smooth, Archibald," he sneered as their gazes met for the briefest of seconds.

Then he'd picked up his bottle and disappeared.

* * *

><p>"What is he <em>doing<em>?"

Blair's face was starting to hurt from smiling as she clutched her drink. She hadn't taken a single sip – or eaten anything, for that matter – as she tried to burn holes in Chuck's back. That damn bottle was still in his hand, and it was half empty now.

"Trying to get to you," Georgie sighed as she took a sip of her own drink. "Obviously."

But Blair shook her head. She'd been on edge before the party because she'd expected him to do something to get to her back. But something – well, something cold and cruel and carefully executed. Not _this. _This was just – a mess.

"He's not even _trying_ to be discrete," Blair hissed back. What was _wrong_ with him?

"Relax," Georgie muttered. She was, in contrast to Blair, in a great mood. the vodka she'd spiked her drink with helped. That, and the wrath her friend was now directing at Chuck. She couldn't have asked for anything better. "Most people are having too much fun to even notice."

Most people. Not everyone. What was really getting to Blair was that she knew this wasn't Chuck's usual style. She couldn't explain why – but this wasn't him. He was never this out of control. And she wasn't even sure he was doing it deliberately any more.

(In fact – she was insulted he didn't seem to think her worthy of enacting deliberate revenge on.)

The latest woman who'd approached him had now gone very red; Blair watched her turn on her heel and storm away.

"Right." She ground her teeth. "That's it." She was more than ready to go over and castrate him, or something – but Georgie grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Just hold on." She nodded in the opposite direction. "Look."

Carter Baizen was also watching Chuck. And his expression was downright pissed off. In fact, he looked as ready to kill his best friend as Blair was.

"See?" Georgie murmured. "Whatever he's doing is obviously messing up their little plan. I say let him get on with it."

But Blair could care less about Carter Baizen. "Just let him humiliate me?" she demanded.

Georgie scoffed as she glanced at Chuck again. "The only person he's humiliating is himself."

"No." No, Georgie didn't get it. They were engaged – if Chuck made a fool out of himself, then he made a fool out of Blair too. She could see one of the guests approaching him now with a thunderous expression. He had to be the husband of that woman. She yanked herself out of Georgie's grasp, ignoring the other girl's noise of annoyance. "I'm putting a stop to this. Now."

* * *

><p>"Sorry." Chuck couldn't have sounded less sorry if he tried – he wasn't even looking at the guy. "But if your wife didn't want to be mistaken for a whore, she shouldn't have dressed like one."<p>

"You son of a-" The guy's fist would have knocked him down right there, had a body not slipped between them. The guy blinked in surprise at the tiny brunette now in his way.

"Chuck. There you are."

Blair's tone was light, but her sudden grip on Chuck's sleeve was not.

"We need a word. Now." She glanced at the furious guy with a smile. "I'm so sorry; I just need to borrow him for a second. Have you tried the meringue? You really must."

And she was dragging Chuck off before he could say anything else.

Chuck tried to jerk out of her hold; but she dug her nails in, wrapping her arm tightly round his as she managed to haul him along with her, out of the reception room and along the corridor till they reached the privacy of his study.

She made sure the door was shut before rounding on him.

"What are you doing? Apart from trying to _ruin_ my life, obviously?" He noted the rising colour in her cheeks, the furious glow of her brown eyes as she faced him. She really was a lot smaller than him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Careful, now." Her anger didn't seem to affect him in the slightest. "We wouldn't want someone to hear you curse. Not Blair Waldorf."

Her eyes slanted. "What are you playing at?" she hissed.

He just rolled his eyes and went to turn away – he didn't want to be in a room with her – but she grabbed his arm, jerking him back round.

His eyes flickered down to where she'd touched him. He was suddenly very close. "You want to play rough now, Waldorf?" His voice was low above her ear; scotch rolled off him in waves. He was so close he could feel the heat of her anger as his fingers took hold of her bare forearms. He held her out in front of him, leaned down into her face. He could feel each breath she took, hear how they caught in her throat. "You only had to ask." His voice was low, rough – almost a whisper.

"Let go of me, Chuck."

She didn't falter.

He could have taken her right then; could have pushed her back against the desk and it would have been so _easy. _Alcohol coursed through his veins and she was the one who'd shut them in here – away from the party. He could have taken her and put a stop to all this. Her skin was deliciously flushed, curls framing her face that was tilted up, into his. His hands still gripped her arms. She didn't falter, but he could feel the effect his proximity had on her as she swallowed.

It was like she was challenging him to do it.

He released her with a hoarse scoff, pushing her away. His jaw was impossibly tight as she ignored the thump of her heart – the odd feeling that the sudden distance caused – _disappointment –_ no. No.

"Why don't you go back to your little party?" he sneered now. He was no longer looking at her. (He couldn't).

Sudden fury gripped her.

"_Our_ party." Her voice crackled with anger. "Our party, Chuck – or have you forgotten that you're the one who wanted this?" He was looking at her now. She stayed exactly where she was, suddenly pale as her eyes flashed. "You brought this upon yourself the moment you picked _me_. Did you really think," she hissed, "That I'd let you get away with doing this to me? You wanted to marry me, Bass. You _asked _for this. You ruined my life." There wasn't a shred of compassion in her gaze. "Now I'm going to ruin yours."

Chuck stared at her. Her face, her rigid body. And then he let out a snort. "I ruined your life? What did I _ruin_, exactly? Your chance to become the next princess of Monaco?" His eyes burned with sheer derision. "I ruined your decision to settle for someone as pathetic as _Louis_? Don't tell me," he made a noise that almost verged on a laugh, "That you convinced yourself that you were in love with someone that _dull. _Even you're not that deluded."

Her nostrils flared; he paused for a moment as he regarded her.

"No. That's not it, is it?" He tilted his head. "Is it, Blair?" His voice was very soft in the space between them. "I told you a month ago that I knew something about you no one else did. I guess my deadline's almost up – but here it is." His lip curled. "You're a coward. You're scared. Too scared to go after what you actually want – so scared you'd rather _settle_."

Her head jerked like he'd slapped her.

"But if you want to tell yourself that I destroyed your chance at true love with that imbecile – if it makes you feel better – then go ahead." He lifted a shoulder. "Makes no difference to me."

A small, strangled noise escaped her. "Love?" She didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry now. "_Love?" _She took a sudden step towards him. "You idiot. You stupid -" Her voice caught. When she spoke again, it was very low. "I needed money. I was going to get the money I needed from that French fool. And then _you_ – you messed it all up."

Chuck stared at her. "Money?" But it was suddenly all, slowly, clicking into place.

"My family are in debt," she hissed. "And if I'd married Louis, I would have had more than enough to pay it all back. But that's not going to happen now." Her small hands were clenched, her expression blank with rage. "And _you – _you think I'm the coward? _You_? Why don't you look in the mirror, Chuck?" She ignored the sudden stiffness in his jaw; ignored the sudden flicker in his eyes. "I'm not the one who's _hiding _from Bart." There it was – she'd said the magic word. "Look at you," she snarled. "You can't even hear his name without flinching, and he's a miserable old man who's not even _worthy _of your time. But you spend all this time plotting and pretending you want a wife so you can – what? Get his approval?"

Because, really – what was this all about? Why had Chuck gone through with the dinner when she knew exactly how Bart made him react? That was the real reason he'd got so drunk tonight. She knew it was. But why put himself through it in the first place?

"I don't want his _approval_." He spat the word out. "I want my trust fund."

There was a moment of silence. That was it? "That's what this is all about?" she echoed, staring at him. "You did all this just for your _trust fund_?"

"It's two million dollars," Chuck laughed bitterly. "It's not _just_ a trust fund. I need the money."

She was silent again. "Money." When she finally spoke, she sounded almost weary. "We both want money." Of course Chuck Bass would be the only person as soulless and materialistic as she was.

He was silent too - how could he not have figured this out? Of course she was trying to get money for her father. And of course she was the one who'd got closer to suceeding that the man himself. The fool who was in the other room right now pretending none of this was happening.

(And there was a small, impossibly bitter lump of something he couldn't describe - she was trying to save the man who'd just sold her out. He suddenly wanted to tell her not to waste her efforts, that the fool wasn't even worthy of her time - except he knew she'd never listen. Not where her father was concerned. And it was none of his business, he reminded himself. Why did he even care?)

All this time, she'd wanted exactly the same thing he did. He glanced at her as he considered this, just for a second.

"So...we want the same thing."

Their gazes met. It was gone as soon as it had arrived, and they would both deny it as long as they lived. But it was still there.

Understanding.

"Apparently." Blair's voice was slightly stiff – but he could tell what they were both thinking.

"Clearly," Chuck sighed at last, "Things aren't going well for either of us."

"And sabotaging each other isn't exactly helping," Blair admitted with great reluctance. She folded her arms, tight. "So what do you propose?"

They watched each other.

"I suppose we could work...together." It sounded like the smartest move at the moment, and they both knew it. Smarter, perhaps, than waiting for their mutual destruction. Or whatever this stalemate was. "If you can help me prove to Bart that I'm...serious, then he'll be more inclined to unfreeze my account."

"A married man needs to provide for his family," Blair agreed. It was difficult for her to say the word _family, _and difficult for Chuck to hear it – they moved on, quickly. "A court of law would have to agree with that." Even if Bart himself didn't. Chuck nodded, and Blair's arms were still folded. "So then what do I get out of this?"

"Once I have the money – I'll do what I can to help." Once Fabiano was off his back. "I may not be a prince, but I'm not exactly poor. And I do have some...specialty, where debts are concerned."

Most of his business was based on them, after all. And he doubted Harold owed money to anyone as dangerous as Fabiano. Something flickered, at the back of his mind, as he realised that he was actually considering helping her. Would he? Harold may not have deserved a penny, but it wasn't like the Waldorfs going bankrupt wouldn't affect her either.

Blair was hesitating too. "How do I know you'll come through?"

Chuck regarded her for a beat. "You don't."

Blair's mind raced way ahead of her. There was one thing in life that she was sure about. Trusting people – depending on them – was stupid. Why _would_ Chuck help her afterwards? Helping him now, though, would get them more money. And if her plan was ultimately to destroy him and take his money anyway – not an _if_, she reminded herself sharply – then gaining more couldn't hurt. Right?

Chuck, meanwhile, was sure she wouldn't go for this. Agree to help him when his end of the deal was so uncertain?

He watched and waited for her to back out.

She pursed her lips – and then she said slowly, finally; "Ok."

She was up to something. She had to be. Didn't she? She tried not to flinch – or so much as blink – as that dark gaze examined every inch of her face. She couldn't tell if he believed her or not.

"Ok."

That gaze was still locked on hers as he held out his hand. She almost hesitated again – but she forced herself to slip her own into his hold. His larger fingers closed over hers for a moment, surprisingly hot. Perhaps because the last time they'd shaken hands, they'd both been half frozen from the rain. But now she could feel the heat of his skin enclosing hers, and she found that she had to steady her voice when she spoke again.

"So we have a deal?"

She felt the pressure of his fingers on hers; his voice was low too.

"We have a deal."

They glanced at each other a second more, confirming - and then she pulled her eyes away. He released her as her gaze skimmed the shelf rather than his face. And that was when she noticed that the picture was gone.

Not the damn picture. Not again. Why had she even noticed? What difference did it make? She didn't care. It wasn't even a picture; it was a gap on a bookshelf that meant nothing.

"We should probably get back out there."

She turned her back on the shelf. "Yes."

And she didn't understand why she felt so strange – why her hand tingled like it had been burnt – as she followed him out.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - I hope you don't hate me too much for skipping out Christmas and making them spend it alone...not a lot of fluffy moments in this chapter, I'm afraid! Thank you so much for your reviews. Seriously, they're amazing :) I will try to update as quickly as possible. **


	15. Chapter 15

Bart lifted his head, ready to snap at his secretary – he'd told her he didn't want any interruptions – as his office door swung open. And when he saw who it was, it was all he could do not to repress a groan.

Blair Waldorf.

What _now_?

"Can I help you?" he sighed when she showed no sign of leaving. She'd dressed for business – smart navy shift dress and coat, curls tight. She took the seat in front of his desk and folded her hands.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr Bass. I'm sure you're busy." Blair was an expert at talking to figures of authority; there was a reason she'd graduated school with top marks in everything. There was a reason no society or club, no matter how prestigious, had ever said no to her. There was a reason – more importantly – that she was every parents' dream come true. (Except her own). "I came to apologise."

Bart's face was impassive. "For what, Miss Waldorf?"

She gazed up into his cold blue eyes. And her expression was the same as the one she'd used to tell Headmistress Queller that she didn't even know what blackmail _was. _"For dinner the other week." She took a deep breath. "The truth is, Chuck and I had a fight – and I wanted to punish him."

Bart barely raised an eyebrow.

It was time to bring out the big guns. "He didn't want to introduce me to you, sir. He didn't even want to tell you we were engaged." She swallowed. "He kept putting it off and making excuses." She risked a glance at the man as she said it – Bart knew damn well that he'd been the only one putting their dinner off. To his credit, his face was still unreadable. "I finally figured out what he was doing – and, well, what was I supposed to do? I was angry. So I arranged a dinner behind his back, and I tried to embarrass him." She gazed down at her polished shoes. "Anyway, he won't even talk to me now. So I thought I'd try and make things right."

Bart finally released a heavy sigh. "Miss Waldorf. Did Charles put you up to this?"

Blair laughed at that. Bitter. "Mr. Bass, I haven't seen Charles since our engagement party. And even then he treated me like a stranger. He didn't say one word to me all night."

She had no doubt that reports of the party would have reached the old man.

"Am I to understand that you're breaking it off, then?"

Blair reflected – not for the first time - that it was a wonder Chuck had ever learned to express any emotions at all. But when she lifted her eyes to his, they were glistening with tears.

"No," she whispered. "Please, Mr. Bass – that's the last thing I want. I was hoping you could help me."

Whatever Bart had been expecting, it wasn't that. For the first time, he actually looked almost taken aback. "Help you?"

"I want Chuck to know that he can trust me again. I want things to go back to how they used to be." Her soft brown eyes held his, desperate. "Please. Just tell me what I should do."

"What you should do?"

"To make him forgive me!"

Bart did not know how to deal with a crying girl. He looked around a little stiffly, and settled on calling his secretary to bring in a glass of water. And some tissues.

"Miss Waldorf," he said at last. "Can I be frank? I doubt my son is suitable for you in any case. This is probably for the best."

Blair finally looked up at him through her false tears. And it took her a second to control her expression of dislike. She remembered the day she'd come home after Serena had been invited to a dance and she hadn't. Eleanor had told her best friend that was for the best too. _Blair's just not suited for that kind of thing, dear. Not like you. _

At least Eleanor hadn't been talking about a person.

"Not suitable?" She stared up at him now. "Don't you think I should be the judge of what's _suitable _for me, Mr. Bass?"

Bart misunderstood her – thought she was upset because he was insulting her. "I'm saying that _you're_ too good for him. I think we both know you could do better."

She knew damn well what he'd been saying. "I don't want better. I want him." Her tone was cold, now, the tears drying on her cheeks as she looked him in the eye. "And if I want him, then clearly he is good enough for me. Perhaps you shouldn't presume to tell me what I should or shouldn't want. Sir."

Bart stared at her. "And what is it," his tone was cold now too, "That you find so attractive in him, if you don't mind me asking? You'll forgive me if I think it odd that a girl of your upbringing would _want_ someone as irresponsible and immature as Charles."

She found herself wondering what her own mother said about her behind her back. Although she suspected that, like Bart, Eleanor was equally critical regardless of whether or not her child was present.

She opened her mouth to inform Bart that his son was clever, resourceful, determined – none of which was a lie, she realised, except to omit that he was awful with it – but found herself saying, instead, "He knows me."

She had no idea where _that_ had come from.

And neither did Bart, it seemed.

She gave a little sigh. "I suppose I thought that if I could somehow mend your relationship, it would help mine." She got to her feet. "I apologise. I was wrong."

She was almost at the door by the time Bart finally spoke.

"Miss Waldorf." He regarded her over his desk. "Tell Charles I expect to see the two of you this weekend at the Palace benefit."

She smiled demurely before she left. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>Chuck was waiting for her in the car outside.<p>

"Well?" he enquired as she climbed in. She could tell he was on edge just being this close to Bass Industries.

Blair adjusted the skirt of her dress. She glanced at him with a faint smirk. "Looks like we just got ourselves invitations to his benefit."

She could tell Chuck hadn't really believed she'd succeed till now. For a moment he just stared at her; he shook his head. "What the hell did you tell him?"

She paused for a fraction of a second. _He knows me._ Then she rolled her eyes. "Just how in love we are, what a great person you are...I'm a good liar, Bass."

He snorted. "You're telling me." Still, he was looking at her. "And he seriously bought it?"

She shrugged. There was a wicked gleam in her eye. "I may also have turned the tears on." Chuck pictured that for a second; his mouth curved in actual disbelief. "I think he was so desperate to make them stop," Blair reflected, "He would have agreed to anything."

And then Chuck was laughing – actually laughing - and before she could help it, she was grinning too.

* * *

><p><em>Blair Cornelia Waldorf and Charles Bartholomew Bass request the honour of your presence at their marriage on Saturday, February 14th, 1929 at eleven o'clock in the morning, St. Patrick's Cathedral. <em>

"Ok. How much do you love me?"

Blair's head snapped up from the silver-edged invitation she'd been inspecting – Georgina had already dropped onto the sofa next to her, wide grin on her face.

She ignored the invitation in her friend's hand.

"The answer had better be a lot." Her eyes gleamed. "Because I got a name."

Blair arched an eyebrow as she set the card down. "Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

Georgie just rolled her eyes. But she couldn't help it; this was too juicy. "Fabiano. The guy that Chuck double-crossed Carter with? It was Fabiano. As in Paolo Fabiano."

Blair stilled. Fabiano? Even she'd heard of him – and he was from Chicago, not New York. He was rumoured to be Al Capone's right hand man. "Chuck made a deal with _him_?"

Georgie wasn't finished, though. "Oh, it gets better. Much better." There was pure glee in her voice. "This two million that Chuck needs? He owes it to Fabiano."

Blair stared at her for a moment. "How on earth do you know this?"

"Our little inside source," Georgie grinned. "Turns out Humphrey makes a pretty good spy."

The other girl's eyes narrowed for a second. "You saw Dan?" Why was Georgie meeting with Dan without telling her? That had never been the plan.

Georgie tossed her head impatiently. "It was at the weekend. While you were playing happy families with Chuck and his daddy."

The Palace benefit had gone well – so well that Blair had managed to arrange lunch with Bart to follow. Chuck had been on his best behaviour, with Blair at his side the entire time; and as long as Blair did most of the talking, he even managed civil conversation with his father. It looked like they were winning him round.

The truth was, Blair had been so busy working with Chuck that she hadn't spent much time even thinking about the other plan. (And she didn't like how odd the reminder made her feel now). She also didn't like the idea of Dan and Georgie meeting unsupervised. She wasn't sure why. She wanted to hear any information on Chuck for herself – not through Georgina.

"Anyway," Georgie went on. "Chuck made some kind of deal behind Carter's back with Fabiano. Carter didn't find out till Fabiano's thugs turned up demanding money. They managed to strike some kind of deal – but, word is that Fabiano will be back next month. And he'll be looking for his money from Chuck."

Blair took a moment to process this. Of course, this was why he wanted his trust fund. Blair hadn't asked him what the money was for yet – she hadn't realised that he had a debt of his own. Was that why he'd sold Victrola? She wondered if it had something to do with why Carter didn't know about Victrola either.

"What kind of deal did he make with Fabiano?" she frowned.

But Georgie wasn't interested in that. "Who cares? We finally have our answer!"

Blair glanced at her.

"The perfect way to destroy Chuck." Her smirk was wide. "We go to Fabiano first."

For a moment, Blair paused. "Are you crazy? Go to _Paolo Fabiano_?"

"Come on," Georgie pressed. "We tell him everything we know about Chuck in exchange for a cut. That way we don't have to do any of the dirty work ourselves – plus, you know how powerful Fabiano is. He'll be far more help than Chuck Bass could ever be."

But Blair shook her head in disbelief. "He'll also be far more likely to stick a knife in our backs. _Literally_. No way, Georgie."

(She was aware that she'd included Chuck in the 'our'. Obviously it bothered her because she didn't want to be implicated in murder).

A flicker of irritation crossed the other girl's face for the first time. "I never took you for a coward," she snapped.

Blair gave her an icy look back. "I'm not a coward. I just don't have a death wish. Fabiano is a bad idea."

Georgina's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure that's all it is?"

Blair stiffened in her seat and pushed away the odd feeling that lingered still in her chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She was watching Blair very closely now. "Just that you've been spending a lot of time with Bass lately. Are you sure you're not letting him manipulate you again?"

"He never manipulated me to begin with," Blair hissed. "I told you, I'm not that stupid."

"You are helping him, though," Georgie pointed out.

Blair glared at her. "To get what I want, remember?"

"I'm not talking about Bart and the trust fund." Her gaze slid to the invitation on the table for a second, and an ugly look crossed her face. "Do you think I haven't noticed all the time you're spending at Gimlet and the Empire? Both places where Bart has never set foot."

"Because we're strategising," Blair growled. "I've been sitting in on some of his meetings." She and Georgie had planned that from the beginning as a way of getting more information – and getting in Chuck's way - but now they they were actually working together, Chuck had started taking her with him. It made sense. It was her investment she was protecting too. And she was clever, and he knew it.

Georgie still looked highly skeptical.

Blair grabbed the newspaper, flicking furiously to the financial section. "Look. The Empire's shares are up by five percent. This is the plan, remember?" She'd slapped the paper on top of the invitation – she'd meant to show that she didn't care about the stupid thing, but it ended up looking more like she was trying to protect it from the other girl's scornful gaze.

"Good," Georgie said coolly. "If you've been sitting in on so many meetings, then you'll have more to tell Fabiano."

Blair pinched her lips together. "I said we're not going to him. Drop it. Now, Georgie."

Georgina just snorted. "Whatever. I'll leave you to your wedding planning, shall I?" She swept a scathing look at the table before stalking out.

* * *

><p>"Did I hear you correctly?" Carter glanced up from his paper to stare at Chuck. "Bart Bass is coming <em>here<em>?"

It was the Empire's first anniversary party – and yes; Blair had managed to persuade Chuck's father to make an appearance. Chuck still couldn't entirely believe it himself.

"Jesus." Even Baizen shook his head in amazement. "So he actually thinks you're reformed."

"Please," Chuck scoffed. He wasn't stupid enough to think Bart was coming as a favour to him. "This is all Blair's doing. She's got him convinced that helping her will reflect well on him." Bart, it seemed, had actually fallen for the doe eyes.

The other man paused a moment. He hadn't missed the faint note of – was that admiration? - in his friend's voice. "And how is the lovely Blair?"

Chuck ignored him. "I need to start on preparations for tonight." He'd already climbed to his feet; Carter cocked his head.

"Celebration here afterwards? I can call some girls in."

"I can't," Chuck drawled. "I'm strategising."

Carter bet he knew exactly who he was _strategising _with. "Is that a euphemism?" he enquired.

Chuck just rolled his eyes. He was halfway out the door when Carter called after him.

"Seriously, though. I don't think you've got laid since you got engaged. I've never known you to be so thorough about keeping up appearances."

"I've been busy," was all Chuck snapped back. He needed to go – he was supposed to be meeting Blair in less than ten minutes.

"Have you?" Carter asked lazily. "Or are you actually committed to her?" Chuck made a face; Carter was still watching him. "Are you starting to develop feelings, Bass?"

Chuck stopped, at that. "Don't be ridiculous," he snarled. He dropped his hat on his head as he turned away again. "I'll see you tonight."

Carter just smirked, faintly, after him.

* * *

><p>The party was a roaring success. The impressive rooms of the Empire were packed; sumptuous appetizers, lively jazz bands, flowing non-alcoholic drink (spiked according to preference) and overflowing with guests.<p>

Chuck Bass had never been one for making rounds and polite conversation at a party. He didn't need to. He and Blair stood at the party's centre, overseeing while people came to them. And they did make a striking couple. She wore a diamond headband, dark waves loose and perfectly in place, with a black dress whose beaded bodice and straps glittered in the ambient lighting. His suit was black too, his tie silver; they couldn't have co-ordinated better if they'd planned it.

"Blair." Bart nodded coolly at her as he approached. He even spared his son a brief glance. "Congratulations. It looks like tonight's a success."

Chuck had one hand on the small of Blair's back and the other wrapped around his drink; he felt Blair smile next to him, flawless, as she held her own hand out to shake the old man's. He concentrated on that rather than the weirdness of Bart being in his hotel and his sudden desire to make the old man get out.

"Thank you, sir."

Did his father actually just smile at her? He was gone in the next second, anyway.

Chuck and Blair exchanged a glance. He couldn't help but be ever so slightly awed as he looked at her - she was a pro. She really was.

"Nice job, Waldorf." His voice was a low murmur against her hair.

"I know." She smirked up at him; he smirked back, and for a moment they looked for all the world like a lovestruck couple smiling at each other.

* * *

><p>"We really are amazing," Chuck mused as he took the sofa. The hour was late and the party wrapped up; they'd retreated to his suite. He hadn't bothered switching on all the lights and the golden shadows from the fireplace flickered against both their satisfied faces.<p>

"We are," Blair reflected contentedly.

They had another brunch with Bart tomorrow. They'd decided, now, that it would be best if Blair brought up the trust fund herself. She still had to work up to it – but if Chuck was honest, he couldn't actually imagine the old man saying no to her.

Which meant they were even closer to getting their goal. And even closer to the wedding. It would be February in a matter of days. She'd sent him a version of the invitation that morning; perhaps that was what made him think about it now.

Their wedding.

He stole a glance in her direction. He'd imagined the hell that would be marriage – even engagement – to Blair Waldorf, and he realised with a little jolt now that he'd actually been _enjoying_ the past few days. But of course he had. They were scheming – Chuck loved scheming.

_Feelings. _

He shoved the thought away with some irritation. This was a business deal. They both knew that.

Still he dragged his eyes away from the light on her skin and the darkness of her eyes as he reached for the bar. He pulled out a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"I think we need to celebrate."

He was already popping the cork, the hiss of bubbles joining the fire's crackle as he poured them both full glasses. He turned back to her, drink in hand – and then realised she'd stilled a little. Her back was very stiff.

"No, thank you."

Was he mocking her? Deliberately trying to taunt her?

Champagne. She'd sworn to never touch a drop of the stuff again; just its scent, now, was enough to bring back memories of his golden eyes in the light of the car and that sensation of falling – and a darker memory -

He watched her, evenly, for a second. Then he set the glass down with a faint shrug. "Suit yourself." He turned away and she blinked a little. He'd dropped it, just like that? Chuck Bass never let anything go.

Maybe it was the whiff of champagne still lingering in the air that stirred something else in her memory. Maybe it was that questioning look in his eyes, just for a moment.

_Why? _

She'd been so humiliated that night, she'd refused to let herself think about it. But she realised something now. She knew, now, that he'd just been trying to make her drop her inhibitions so that she was easier to manipulate. Easier to trick into marriage. But if that was the case – why on earth hadn't he taken her that night? She distinctly remembered telling him to. (Although she tried very hard not to). In fact – she'd practically been climbing into his lap.

Surely if he'd seduced her that night, he'd have had even more reason to convince her to marry him.

So why hadn't he?

She was staring at him now; he sensed it and glanced at her, quirking an eyebrow. "What?"

He saw her swallow. "Why-"

But she didn't complete the question. She couldn't. She shook her head, quickly. Climbed to her feet. "It's late. I should go." Her voice sounded off even to her own ears.

Chuck was still studying her. He looked like he was about to say something – ask something - but then he thought better of it too.

"If you insist."

She nodded and reached for her coat. She was already heading for the door; he couldn't help but think of another night where she'd fled into the darkness alone.

"Blair."

She paused, forced herself to glance over her shoulder. Chuck was suddenly at her side and the space between them was a lot less than she'd originally thought. She tensed; was he trying to stop her?

"I'll call Arthur. He can drop you home."

She gazed up at him and she still didn't understand the strange feeling that unfurled inside of her. What was her problem?

"Thank you."

Her voice stuck for a second – and maybe that was why, before the silence could stretch out and she could think about his proximity, she suddenly leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. Maybe it was a reflex because she'd spent too long today playing his doting fiancee. She'd kissed the same cheek only this morning in front of the reporter from the Times – except now, no one was looking. And her lips lingered just a fraction too long, because she could smell his cologne and the champagne on his breath and his skin was smooth beneath hers and his mouth was just -

She jerked herself backwards.

"I'll wait in the lobby." She couldn't hit the elevator button fast enough as her eyes focused determinedly on the doors in front of her. "See you tomorrow."

And then she was gone.

* * *

><p>That night, Chuck didn't sleep well. Flickering firelight and brown eyes haunted his every dream till he wasn't even sure if he was awake or not – till he jerked upwards and saw that he was, of course, alone in his king bed. Alone. How else would he be?<p>

Perhaps he should avoid champagne for a while.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Thank you so much for all your fantastic reviews! Please please don't stop :) I promise the teasing will pay off soon...**


	16. Chapter 16

Georgina Sparks had a very good memory. She never forgave, and she never forgot. It was another trait she and Blair shared. It was another reason why they were such good friends. It was also the reason why they argued as much as they did - it was impossible to get on with a person all the time when neither of you were ever prepared to let anything go.

So Georgina Sparks remembered the day that Chuck Bass broke Blair Waldorf's heart.

They'd been eight years old, and they'd been at a duck pond.

Blair had wanted an excuse to wear the coat she'd just got for her birthday, and Georgie had decided that Blair was going to be her new best friend. She had no idea why Carter and Chuck had picked that same spot by the duck pond on that same day.

Carter had been throwing stones at the ducks, anyway.

Blair had been outraged.

"You thug. You beastly, horrible-"

Carter's laugh had drowned her out. He'd been too busy trying to impress the group of giggling young ladies on the other side of the pond to bother with an angry little girl.

Blair had finally looked at Chuck – she'd been trying to pretend he wasn't there. Chuck was watching the whole thing in silence. He was the one who'd used to feed the ducks with her.

"Stop him."

It had been an order. Blair never asked nicely.

Georgina had been the one to grab her hand. "Leave him, Blair. He's not like Nate. He's as bad as Carter is."

Chuck Bass' face had gone whiter than any eight year old's should.

Blair had ignored her.

"_Stop_ him."

Georgina remembered them staring at each other. And she remembered Chuck's face twisting, very deliberately, as he bent and picked up a stone.

It's crack on the water, Georgina thought, had been timed perfectly to the crack of Blair Waldorf's heart.

Which was why all these years later, Georgie knew it was going to happen again unless she did something.

She'd finally cornered Blair on their visit to the beauty salon. And she'd asked her, straight up, if she was having second thoughts about the whole thing. If she was backing out of the plan.

Blair had denied it, of course. Claimed she was still just as set on destroying him.

Georgie had told her the same thing she'd told her aged eight. Carter and Chuck were the bad guys. She knew bringing Carter into it would make her best friend see the truth – she needed Blair to realise that they were one and the same. Sure enough, Blair had stilled.

But there had still been that odd expression in her eyes.

Which was exactly why Georgie knew that she now needed to take things into her own hands.

* * *

><p>"Where are you going?" Chuck frowned as he noticed Carter in his coat; they were supposed to be interviewing potential heavies in a matter of minutes.<p>

"Got a date," Carter breezed as he headed for the door. "I'd ask if you wanted to come...but I guess you're still doing the whole monogamy act?"

Chuck chose to ignore that. "What about the interviews?"

His best friend lifted a shoulder. "I'm sure you'll manage without me. Isn't your little lady coming along, anyway?"

Blair was due to arrive any moment.

But the frown remained on Chuck's face. He'd noticed that ever since he'd made the decision to let Blair sit in on things, Carter had started missing them. There was always an excuse – but now that he thought about it, he'd never so much as seen Carter and Blair in the same room. Not for more than a few seconds, and Carter rarely made the effort to speak to her. Not even to sneer.

He raised his eyebrows at his friend. "Do I detect a note of jealously, Baizen?" He couldn't stop his lip from curling. "What's wrong? Are you feeling replaced?"

He was only trying to wind the other man up, but Carter scowled as he suddenly remembered what Georgie had said to him all those weeks ago. So now Carter was the desperate one?

He rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving."

"Do you have a problem with Blair?" Chuck enquired. He didn't know why it bothered him. But Carter was the one who'd told him to go after her to begin with, for God's sake.

Carter finally spared the man a glance. "As long as she's charming Bart? No. Just make sure she keeps the old man sweet. We're running out of time."

"I told you," Chuck answered, suddenly irritated (he wasn't sure why), "I think we're nearly there."

"Good." Carter was already tugging the door open. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got a hot little blonde waiting for me."

* * *

><p>There was an advantage to Eleanor renouncing any part in Blair's upcoming nuptials. (Harold had received a letter yesterday, after a reporter in France had tried to get some information out of her mother – Blair had been in the same room, and she'd distinctly caught words like 'moll' and 'Manhattan's version of Scarface' in Eleanor's furious capitals). The advantage, though, was that Blair now got complete choice in everything.<p>

Chuck was prepared to foot the bill for whatever she wanted – he'd told her to see it as a gesture of good faith. She was starting to wonder if he actually might help her after his trust fund came through. Well, she reflected – perhaps he'd decided he stood to benefit more, financially, from a good relationship with Bart. And if he double-crossed her, then that relationship would no longer exist.

She tried to remind herself that it didn't matter either way, since she_ would_ be getting her hands on his money. Except the reminder had become a little too automatic – she'd found herself so busy, again, that she hadn't spared much thought for the plan to destroy him. She didn't like that odd sense of unease every time she did think about it. Unease, she was sure, because she'd been putting so much effort into acting like she and Chuck were allies.

But this was an alliance of convenience and nothing else.

Anyway – it turned out Chuck had been serious about giving her what she wanted for the wedding. She had to admit that had she married Louis, the royal family probably would have dictated everything. As it was, she'd got to select the church, the venue, the catering – and she'd actually quite enjoyed choosing. If she was going to have a wedding, she might as well have exactly the one she wanted. Especially if Chuck was paying for it. Right?

She'd shown him everything she'd selected – since this was his venture, too – half expecting him to turn round and disagree just to spite her. But he'd admitted that he did trust her judgement. And they'd both been surprised to discover that they were thinking along similar lines anyway.

This decision, though – this decision was the one she was most happy to be able to make without Eleanor's interference. Her wedding dress. She hadn't informed Chuck about this one either.

She gazed into the mirror now as the dressmaker adjusted a few last details. This was her final fitting before the wedding, and she was -

"Beautiful." Serena watched from the sidelines, trying to resist the urge to run over and hug her best friend. "B, it's gorgeous. You look amazing."

Blair rolled her eye's at the emotion in the blonde's voice; but even she had to admit, as she studied her reflection, that she was satisfied.

The woman in the shop had tried to convince her that flapper dresses were all the rage now for brides – but Blair was having none of it. The pure white of her full skirt swept the ground as she turned, examining the pearl detail on the intricate bodice. It _was_ a beautiful dress.

She couldn't have asked for anything more perfect.

The dressmaker gave a nod and disappeared to see to someone else, leaving the two girls alone in the fitting room.

This time Serena did wrap her friend in a hug, gazing at her reflection as she squeezed her from behind.

"I can't believe we're going to be brides together," she beamed. Nate and Serena's own wedding was a month after Chuck and Blair's.

Blair smiled a little. "Well, as long as you don't outshine me too much on your big day."

The blonde gave her an exasperated nudge in response. "Just think," she sighed happily. "We'll get to do...married things together!"

Married things? Serena was getting a little carried away; Blair doubted she even knew what 'married things' referred to. She arched an eyebrow up at her. "Like what, exactly?"

"Like...have babies! And go on double dates!"

Blair tried not to freeze at the mention of _babies – _with Chuck Bass? Seriously? – and rolled her eyes again. "You think Nate and Chuck would ever agree to a double date?"

The two of them still pointedly ignored each other at any events. She doubted even Serena could convince them to sit at the same table for dinner.

The blonde's smile faded a little. "They'll come around," she attempted. "You know Nate's just worried about you. He doesn't know Chuck like you do."

Well, that much was true. Just not in the way Serena meant.

"Nate will get it," the blonde went on firmly. "Anyone who sees the two of you together can tell that you're made for each other."

Blair obviously hadn't masked her expression as well as she thought, because Serena nudged her again.

"Come on. I've seen you. It's like you've got some kind of secret language that no one else understands. I swear, sometimes you just look at each other and you seem to know what the other one means." She grinned. "It's a little creepy, actually."

Blair gave a scoff. "Just because you and Nate haven't quite learnt the art of subtlety, S, doesn't mean the rest of us are the same."

Secret language? With _Chuck_?

Serena just laughed. "He knows you, though."

Blair's smile became frozen in place as she remembered telling Bart the same thing.

But Serena was still talking. "I found out he reserved the macaroons for you at that Empire party. All of them."

Blair grit her teeth. "Just because he knows what dessert I like-"

"And then," Serena laughed, "When I asked him why, he told me there was no way you'd eat even one if you thought they'd been so much as touched by another guest."

Her friend gave her a little glare. "That's real cute." So he knew she was demanding. Anyone who knew Blair Waldorf knew that.

(And, yes. She had only helped herself to a macaroon because she'd known they were reserved).

"He understands you, B," Serena insisted. "You know – I think he has ever since we were kids."

Of course Serena would bring up when they were kids. It was her only real memory of Chuck; she knew the boy, not the man. Not like Blair. And still the mention of their childhood filled Blair with the desire to change the subject. She didn't _want_ to remember Chuck Bass the boy.

The blonde glanced at her like she'd guessed what she was thinking. "I know he's a gone a little off the rails since then." No, she really didn't. "I've heard the rumours. But, Blair," her voice was soft as she hugged her best friend again; "I think you're the one who's redeemed him."

Blair felt sick. _Redeemed _him?

"No, S." She tried to tell her best friend just how wrong she was – but Serena still wasn't listening.

"I know it's corny. It's like a romance novel, or something – the bad boy and the virgin," - Blair flinched - "But it's like you've saved him, B."

Blair could no longer look at her dress or Serena's warm smile.

How could she have forgotten just how wrong she was? Chuck Bass didn't know her at all. And here Serena thought she was _saving _him when all she'd ever wanted to do was destroy him. Serena didn't know her either. No one did – not really. And thank God for it, because if they ever really saw -

Serena was still smiling, and Blair felt sick. Right to her core.

* * *

><p>"Something wrong with the salmon?"<p>

Blair had hoped that getting out of the wedding dress and away from her best friend would help the nausea to dissipate. She'd taken a few moments in the cold air before she'd climbed into Chuck's waiting car. They had lunch plans, and she needed her stomach to settle.

But as soon as she'd seen him – just the scent of the leather seats she now knew so well; the planes of his angular face that were far too familiar and the eyes she knew were watching her – had made her feel odd all over again.

She didn't know what was wrong with her.

She'd managed to distract herself as she'd slipped into their usual banter - but now she was sitting opposite him in a restaurant, supposedly finalising their plans for Bart, and all she could think of were Serena's words. Georgie's words. Blair wanted so badly to believe that Chuck was bad. She _needed_ to believe it – because if he was the villain then it meant she most definitely wasn't. He was as bad as Carter. But if he was as bad as Carter then that night why hadn't he -

"Waldorf?"

Chuck was studying her with a tilted head.

She realised she hadn't touched a bite of her meal, and she really didn't think she could. "I'm not hungry."

Chuck was still watching her, and she wished she could be anywhere but under that gaze. His golden eyes were too penetrating.

"What's wrong?"

More to avoid his stare than anything else, she snapped. "Apart from having to make all the stupid wedding decisions myself, you mean? Apart from being the one who has to go demand two million dollars from your father tomorrow while you wait in the car?"

He arched an eyebrow. That wasn't what was bothering her, and he knew it. But then – what?

"You're the one who said I'd only get in the way," he reminded her evenly. He picked his next words with care. "And the sooner this stupid wedding is over with, the sooner-"

"What?" she hissed. "You make good on your vague promise to somehow make all those debts disappear? Sorry if I don't find that a great comfort right now."

He said nothing. Just watched her. _What_ was she so upset about? She hadn't been this pale last night at the charity gala - so it could only have been the dress fitting with Serena.

She used his silence to push her chair back and climb to her feet, grabbing her bag. Her face was still white. "I have a headache. Excuse me."

It wasn't till she was on the street outside that she realised he'd followed her; and then it was too late because his hand had closed around her arm and he was spinning her back to face him.

"Blair." His voice was low and his grip was too firm for her to escape. "What's going on?"

She wished that he'd call her Waldorf like he usually did, because there was something about the way he said Blair -

"Nothing." Her own voice was still too tight as she tried to break his gaze. "I told you, I don't feel well."

"Do you not want to do this?" He sounded suddenly, perfectly flat.

Her eyes jerked back to his – he obviously wasn't serious – but she realised that there was a strange expression on his face and wondered if he might actually be. He _couldn't _be.

And not want to do what?

The meeting with Bart? The whole marriage?

She looked into his eyes and wondered if he even knew himself.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said at last. "Of course I do."

His fingers were still digging into her arm. "I told you I'd help you, and I meant it. I will get your family out of trouble."

All he was doing, she reminded herself, was trying to convince her he'd uphold his end of the bargain. And why wouldn't he try to convince her with what was at stake tomorrow?

But she felt like his eyes were burning her skin.

"I know," she swallowed at last. She finally glanced up at him, face closed. "So I'll see you tomorrow at nine."

And she told herself that the nausea was all in her head and she wasn't feeling _anything _as she hailed a taxi and left him.

He stood on the street corner. He should have been satisfied – the deal was going ahead as planned. Tomorrow was the day. But he still hadn't found out whatever the hell was wrong with her.

And then he was irritated with himself for even caring. What did it even matter what her problem was? Like Carter said – as long as she kept Bart sweet, then everything was fine.

But he couldn't shake the sense of seething _dissatisfaction_ as got into his own car and ordered Arthur to take him home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - I know. More angst. Please don't kill me...things will start picking up! We're getting closer and closer to the wedding. Promise. Thank you so much for all your reviews :) **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N – Ok. Here's the thing. This chapter would have been up a lot sooner, but I got slightly nervous after reading so many reviews begging for an end to the angst and some CB smut. This chapter...does not deliver that. So I wanted to make sure I had the other one in progress before I published it, ready for a super speedy update so people aren't too frustrated! This chapter may not be exactly what you want, but I did feel it was necessary. And I promise that the next chapter will a) have the wedding, and b) be up before the end of the day.**

**Erm and without giving too much away, I can't promise real real smut any time soon. It just wouldn't fit the storyline I have in my head. So I'm really sorry – but I'm really hoping it's enjoyable anyway. Gulp. **

**And thank you so much for all the reviews in the mean time :) Seriously, you're amazing!**

* * *

><p>It was a quiet afternoon at Gimlet.<p>

Things didn't usually pick up till night anyway; the plush interior was oddly garish in the late sunlight. Carter was slouched at the bar, idly going over the books as he worked off his hangover from the night before and ignored his staff around him.

He only glanced up when the door swung open and Chuck strode in. Chuck and Blair. He looked between them – neither of them were exactly smiling. Oh, Jesus.

"Bart didn't go for it?"

"No," Chuck frowned. "He went for it. He's going to unfreeze the account the day after the wedding."

Carter laughed - they couldn't have asked for better timing. "That's perfect." He got to his feet, books forgotten now as he slapped Chuck on the back. "We did it!"

Chuck finally smiled.

Blair did too, though she ignored Carter like always.

The man was still grinning as he ordered the barman to get drinks all round. "I'd say this calls for a celebration," he announced.

He turned to toast Chuck, pausing when he saw that his friend hadn't picked up the glass. He'd expected Blair not to touch a drop – but what was Chuck's problem?

"Come on," he said impatiently. "What's wrong with you two?"

Chuck rolled his eyes and finally took the drink. He was aware that Carter and Blair were in the same room, for once. But Carter's smugness was making him realise how much he wished they weren't. Because all it did was remind him of that Godawful deal - and there was something about the other man's satisfied grin next to Blair that made him feel a little sick.

And Carter was the last person Blair wanted to celebrate with.

(Dimly, there were both aware that they should be feeling a lot happier. It had worked. They'd finally got what they wanted. So why the stirrings of unease, still?)

"I have to go," Blair said crisply. "I have a wedding to prepare for."

Carter noticed Chuck watch her go; noticed the brief glance between the two of them before they both looked away.

"Bass." He waited till she was out of the door before raising a brow at his best friend. "What's your problem?"

He got an eye roll in response. "Nothing."

Like Carter believed that for a second. He continued to study the other man before making a noise of annoyance. "Don't tell me you're nervous about the big day?"

Chuck's gaze narrowed. "Why would I be nervous?"

"You're going to be married," Baizen pointed out lazily. "Blair Waldorf is going to be yours. Forever."

Chuck's jaw was suddenly very tight. And Carter could see his hand clenched around his glass.

(Chuck didn't know why Carter making her sound like a piece of property pushed him quite so hard on edge. Especially since it was how they both talked about any other girl).

"It's not nerves, then," he snarled. "Is it? It's more like...feeling _sick_."

And he did feel sick. But it wasn't at the idea of Blair Waldorf being _his. _(He remembered vowing, once, to make her as much – after he'd dragged her down to his level – but he'd been a fool to think she'd let him own her even if he did manage to destroy her).

Maybe what was really making him feel sick was the knowledge that he no longer wanted to destroy her. That _couldn't _be right. Could it? Because if it was -

There was a loud crash.

Both Chuck and Carter turned, irritated; Humphrey had managed to drop the glass he was supposed to have been polishing.

He was busy mumbling his apologies and scrabbling to pick up the pieces, so neither of them saw that his face was red with anger – not that they would have noticed anyway. Or cared.

But Dan cared. The thought of marrying Blair made Chuck feel sick? Enough was enough. Dan wasn't going to stand by and let him get away with this any more. Something needed to be done – and for once, Dan was going to be the one who did it.

* * *

><p>It was the night before Blair's wedding.<p>

Her dress was hung up, whiter than white and perfectly pressed. Her veil sat by the vanity where all her jewellery was laid out ready.

The night before a girl's wedding was supposed to be spent with her mother - Blair had read somewhere - her last night in her parents' house. But the eve of her wedding made little difference to whatever important work Harold had to do; she supposed he would, at least, be there in the morning. Unlike Eleanor.

Serena had been the one to insist she spend the day pampering herself at the van der Woodsens. Serena had been the one to surprise her with a little party in the evening; just friends. Just the two of them and Georgina and Nate. And Lily, of course, since Lily wouldn't be anywhere but at home on a Friday night.

Blair glanced at her best friend now. The blonde was busy cutting up the cake she'd made. (Or, at Nate's suggestion, the cake Larissa had made; he still remembered the raw eggs he'd discovered in the middle of the 'cake' Serena had presented him with last birthday).

She was making the slices far too large - and Blair couldn't stop the sudden rush of fondness as she watched her. As she watched Nate pick up his slab and struggle to maintain a straight face.

Serena was even making a huge effort with Georgie; the two girls had never got on, but Serena smiled as she handed her her slice anyway.

"And," she added grandly, "Last but not least – the blushing bride herself!"

Blair rolled her eyes as she accepted the plate. "You are aware that I need to fit into my dress tomorrow?" she enquired as she eyed the mound of cake. But she was smiling as she said it, and her gaze met the blonde's for a moment. "Thanks, S."

Serena smiled back. "Tomorrow's your big day, B. Whatever you need – I'm here."

"We all are," Nate agreed. His face darkened for a second. "And that includes killing Chuck if he even thinks about hurting you." Serena rolled her eyes and hit his shoulder.

Georgie smirked a little, and only Blair caught her next murmur. "Pretty sure she'll be the one hurting Chuck."

Blair smiled tightly and pretended she hadn't heard. Pretended that weird feeling wasn't trying to creep back up on her. But as Serena started burbling about something else, she realised it was no good – the nausea was back. She blamed the cake.

She set the plate down and excused herself, claiming the need for air and promising to be back in a second.

She slipped out of the warm room, away from the gleam in Georgie's eyes and onto the balcony leading from the van der Woodsens' lounge.

The entire apartment had felt something like a mausoleum ever since Eric's death. Only one person, Blair reflected; but his absence suddenly made the expanse of the polished dining table stretch out for miles and the unoccupied sofas threaten to swallow every room. No wonder Serena had avoided home for so long.

Blair exhaled, now, into the chilly air. It was quiet on the balcony, where the only sounds were the distant rumble of traffic below and her breathing. She turned her back on the night sky and leaned against the railings, seeing her own reflection in the glass of the balcony door.

The glass was distorted and her reflection blurred, just the white oval of her face staring back.

She refused to believe that it was the idea of hurting Chuck that made her feel so sick. She was stuck at a celebration for a wedding that he'd essentially _forced _her into. He was using her. She should hate him. She _did _hate him, she reminded herself.

But as she gazed at the muted orange glow coming from the penthouse windows – she could just make out the blurred shapes of the furniture inside – she found herself remembering coming here as a kid instead. When Eric was a baby and she knew so many things were certain. Certain that Father Christmas and God were not only real but watching to make sure she behaved; certain that she would never fall, because her father would always catch her; and certain that Chuck Bass was her best friend. She remembered sticky summer days playing on this very balcony, the door open to the sound of another van der Woodsen party and Eric's gurgle, the centre of his sister's attention like babies always were. She remembered the taste of lemonade and Chuck's serious face as he slipped her extra sugar for them to share.

She wondered if he'd do it. Would he really find a way to get the money for Harold's debts? Would he really _help _her?

(And she didn't know what was getting to her more; the idea of him helping, or the idea of him actually wanting to help).

She remembered the way he'd looked at her as he'd held her outside that restaurant. He'd looked at her like he'd believed, in that moment, that he was willing to do whatever it took.

But what difference did it make whether or not he was willing? The point was that Blair needed that money. She'd been making it all about revenge – and she'd forgotten that the money was the only thing that actually mattered.

She had to focus on the money.

She had to stop questioning whether she even wanted to destroy Chuck Bass any more and ask the only question that actually mattered – what would best serve her? What was the safer option?

_You're a coward. You're scared. Too scared to go after what you actually want – so scared you'd rather settle. _

No. No – she was selfish. Being selfish was the only way to survive. She was pretty sure Chuck Bass knew that too. Even if he did help her, it would only be to serve his best interests.

It was time she stopped worrying about _feelings_ – whether they be hate or that goddamn churning in her stomach – and take the same attitude.

"Blair?"

Her reflection disappeared as the door slid open to reveal Lily. The woman paused for a moment; then she moved out to join the girl on the balcony.

"What are you doing?"

"I just needed a...moment."

Lily glanced at her. "Feeling overwhelmed?"

No, Blair wanted to say. Perfectly in control. That was what she wanted to be. That was what she needed to be.

In the end she just nodded.

Overwhelmed.

She was half expecting Lily to reassure her; tell her it would all be fine and tomorrow would be the best day of her life. Wasn't that the kind of thing you told a person before their wedding?

Instead Lily smiled faintly. "I can't say I blame you." She gave a little sigh. "You'd think that after three weddings the feeling goes away – but I still remember just wanting to scream the day before I married Klaus." Her tone was dry; and suddenly Blair couldn't help a faint smile too. Lily van der Woodsen, of all people, was giving her wedding advice.

"Eric was the only thing that kept me calm."

Blair's smile faded.

"He sat down next to me." She sounded distant, soft. "And he said, 'Mom? Everything will fall into place.' I wanted to ask him how on earth he knew that – he was twelve years old, for God's sake," - her voice caught a little - "But then I looked at him, and he was so calm that... I actually believed him."

And Blair could believe that. She'd seen Eric's calm smile and quiet, calm voice soothe Serena enough times.

"He was right." Lily's hand was suddenly laid on her shoulder, far more gentle than her own mother's had ever been. "Everything will fall into place."

Blair stared at the light spilling onto the balcony from the open door and remembered a pair of dark eyes squinting in the sun and the taste of lemonade.

* * *

><p>Dan's heart hammered all the way up to the Waldorf penthouse. Could the elevator move any more slowly?<p>

He finally had it. Proof. The real reason Chuck wanted to marry Blair. Or...something like that. The truth was, the secret still didn't make much sense to him. But he'd found something that Chuck didn't want to get out – something that Chuck wanted to protect.

Something that Blair could use to bargain her freedom for.

Just picturing her face when he told her -

The penthouse was dark.

His jumble of excited thoughts - her kisses of gratitude as she finally saw that he was _different_ to everyone else – disappeared as he moved further in and saw that the apartment was, in fact, empty.

Blair wasn't home.

But where else would she be on the night of her wedding?

He tried not to feel too disappointed as he came to a stop. What was he supposed to do now? He'd have to wait for her to come back. That didn't quite fit the rosy image of sweeping in like her knight in shining armour.

In fact, lingering uninvited in her empty penthouse was...awkward. Why did nothing ever go the way he wanted it to?

He was just ruminating that he had to be the most unfortunate man ever (not for the first time, either) when the elevator pinged behind him.

He jumped – he hadn't had time to prepare; he needed to make sure he had the facts right and he was facing the wrong way and was he ready for her to kiss him -

"What are _you _doing here?"

It wasn't Blair.

He blinked rapidly and Georgina made a noise of disgust. _ "_Ugh. You can't even stalk properly. She's not here, genius."

Dan frowned. "I'm not stalk – what are you doing here, then?"

Georgie just rolled her eyes; she'd already walked past him and was heading for the stairs. "Picking up my bouquet for tomorrow." The bridesmaids all had matching arrangements of peonies to hold in the church.

Plus, it had given her an excuse to slip out of the van der Woodsens early. Just in time for -

"I need to talk to Blair."

Georgina spared him a glance. "Wrong moment for love declarations, Humphrey. Did you not learn from last time?"

Dan made a face and ignored the flush under his collar. "This is important. I found something."

The girl finally paused long enough to look at him. He didn't miss the sudden gleam in her eye. "What?"

Dan had wanted to tell Blair himself. He wasn't quite as enthusiastic about her hearing it from someone else; it would be like he hadn't done anything. But Georgie was waiting now, and he could tell she wouldn't let him go till she found out. He supposed, reluctantly, that the most important thing was that Blair knew. He wouldn't be there to see her face, but perhaps she'd think of him -

"Humphrey," Georgie snapped. "I don't have all night."

Dan sighed. Fine. "I found out some more about Fabiano." After his decision to _do _something, he'd realised he wasn't actually sure what. He normally knew – the problem was getting people to notice he'd done it in the first place.

So when Chuck went out and Carter was still busy celebrating, he'd ended up in Chuck's office, trying to break into his safe. Which had failed. Miserably.

But it had meant that he was still standing in the office when the phone rang with a Mr. Murphy on the other line.

Dan wasn't very good at lying, even over the phone. So it was a good thing the line had been crackly enough that he'd managed to convince Murphy he was actually speaking to Chuck.

Which was how he'd found out about Victrola.

"That deal," he explained now, "That Chuck made with him, behind Carter's back – apparently he bought a club."

Georgie raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"It's this place called Victrola that no one knows about. Chuck didn't want Carter to find out – he still doesn't. Carter only knows that Chuck owes Fabiano money. He doesn't know why."

Those blue eyes stared at him for a second. When Georgina next spoke, her voice curled with disbelief. "That's it? Chuck bought another joint?"

"And he just had to sell it," Dan pressed. He frowned a little; her expression remained unimpressed. "He doesn't want anyone to know about it," he repeated – because he felt sure Georgie was missing something. If Chuck didn't want Carter to know, then it _had _to be important.

"Humphrey," Georgie sighed. "This is why you're never going to get anywhere in life. And why Blair knows better than to rely on an amateur like you for information."

Humphrey felt anger rise at the deliberate sting. "This could _help _Blair. We have to tell her!"

"Tell her what?" the other girl scoffed. "About a joint that Chuck doesn't even own any more? How exactly is that going to help?"

So everything Dan had done was for nothing? He'd broken into an office, impersonated another person – not to mention the huge risk he'd put himself at; Chuck was bound to find out as soon as he spoke to Murphy – and Georgie was telling him it wasn't enough?

That wasn't _fair. _

"We can't just let Chuck get away with this," he insisted angrily.

"He does everything else," Georgie pointed out. She sounded bored. "Deal with it."

Dan was so worked up that he didn't see the glint in her eye. "I thought you wanted to help stop him?" He could hear his voice rise in frustration – frustration that Georgina ignored.

"Humphrey." She was already moving back to the elevator, guiding him along with her. "Do yourself a favour? Go home. Because even if Blair wasn't getting married tomorrow, you're not even on the list of people she'd consider." She ushered him into the compartment and gave him another glance as the lift descended. "I know you think I'm being a bitch," she reassured him with a sweet smile; "But it's still the truth."

The elevator stopped on the ground and she climbed out.

"Good night."

He was so busy struggling to control his outrage and glaring bitterly at her back as it retreated that he didn't even realise she'd never picked up her bouquet.

* * *

><p>The night was winding down in Gimlet, bleary drunks stumbling out onto the street with hats tipped down to cover their faces. Some still had girls clinging to their rumpled suits, lipstick on their collars accompanying the scent of smoke and perfume.<p>

Streetlights glowed, but the night was cover enough for the revellers that made their way to other people's beds and other people's floors.

The night was dark enough to cover a pale brunette as she turned up the collar of her coat, blue eyes narrowing on the stranger that waited for her in an alley. She'd been waiting for him too.

High above the streets, in two separate penthouses, it wasn't dark enough.

Blair could still make out the seamless white lines of her dress, a white vision that waited for tomorrow. Waited for _her_. Even with the blinds pulled, shadowy light whispered across her skin, tickled her eyelids and made sleep impossible.

The same light that gleamed off the abandoned scotch bottle that wasn't helping Chuck sleep in the slightest. Even with his eyes screwed shut there were glimmers of a face and a voice that he couldn't get to disappear, however much he tried.

Two sets of sheets were bunched and twisted from constant tossing. And, finally, two pairs of eyes settled on the ceiling instead and watched till the darkness faded to the first streaks of dawn.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N - Here it is. Longest chapter so far. I really hope you enjoy...**

* * *

><p>It was cold in the church.<p>

St. Patrick's may have been a beautiful cathedral, but its vaulted ceilings and stone floors made the air as chilled as it was outside. Colder than outside, Blair was convinced.

That was the only reason she couldn't seem to stop shivering.

The organ started to play, and she'd never felt more like she wanted to throw up. Even as she'd imagined the satisfaction this day would give her – the last day Chuck Bass thought he'd got his way, the knowledge that he'd be signing up to a lifetime of her revenge – a small part of her had also known that she'd dread it. How could she not?

But this was something more than dread. She didn't know what_ this_ was.

(She was very aware that it wasn't satisfaction, though).

Serena turned and caught her eye before she started down the aisle, and Blair just about managed to return her smile. Georgina was grinning at her too, a smirk that Blair found she couldn't force back.

She felt Harold take her arm, move closer to the door. Her cue was coming up. Her father gave her a little squeeze that did nothing to make her feel any warmer.

"You're making the right decision, Blair bear. This will all work out."

Had she been in her right state of mind, she might have thought that an odd thing for a father to say to his daughter. Especially when he'd been the one to insist on the match in the first place.

But all she could do was try to repress the cold long enough to force her feet to move, because the doors had opened and the aisle was waiting for her.

* * *

><p>Chuck stood by the altar and ignored his churning stomach. He ignored Carter's smirk from next to him, and ignored the fact that his suit felt like it was choking him. Wasn't this how the groom was supposed to feel on his wedding day, anyway? Facing married life and the awful, trapped weight of being a <em>husband <em>for the rest of time?

(Except he was the one doing the trapping, and it made no sense that _that _was what was making him feel so ill).

He was dimly aware of all the whispers behind him, the beautiful white flowers adorning each pew – flowers that she'd picked, naturally (he must have agreed on them too, perhaps even remembered her showing them to him; but he'd never thought about how they'd gleam in the church's candlelight now) – and he wondered, suddenly, if maybe she wouldn't show up. Wouldn't that just be perfect? To leave him standing at the altar?

Nate caught a glimpse of Chuck's white face as he entered the church. It took him by surprise, he realised. He'd never seen Chuck Bass look anything less than a hundred percent put together. And his black coat and tails were perfect, down to his top hat and white bow tie – but his face was still unnaturally pale.

Was it possible that the guy was actually...nervous?

He was still watching Chuck; and the man's black gaze landed on his. They regarded each other for a beat. Nate couldn't quite bring himself to smile at the guy, but he didn't frown either. Because he'd just realised that he was _right. _

Chuck Bass actually looked – if not scared – then human. Chuck Bass looked human.

Maybe that was why Nate paused in front of him before taking his seat.

"I just wanted to say...congratulations." Chuck stared at the blond. Carter, at his side, barely repressed a snort. But Nate carried on, slowly. "I hope you know how lucky you are. And that...you take good care of her."

Chuck regarded him. He wanted to be pissed that Archibald had the cheek to tell him what he should or shouldn't be doing with her – but when he looked in the man's eyes, all he saw was genuine concern. Not possessiveness – not jealousy or regret. Not even a shred of malice.

How was it possible to be that _good_?

And how was it possible that, for a moment, someone that good had actually looked like he _trusted _Chuck to -

(Take care of her).

Nate moved away; Carter's lip was still curled in a sneer. He gave Chuck a little nudge. Of course. Because Chuck was the one who was about to marry the girl his best friend had won for him in a poker game so that he could get his trust fund.

And Chuck had just seen Bart walk into the church.

He remembered that desire he'd had. The kick that had burned inside him just imagining Bart's expression as he watched perfect, perfect Blair walk down the aisle to marry his failure of a son.

His father gave him the briefest of nods now. Chuck couldn't even look at him. Carter saw, and Chuck could still feel his smirk.

And he suddenly wanted to call the whole thing off. Put a stop to all of this. Damn it all to hell, and tell her -

The organ had started to play.

The guests' heads all turned; it was too late anyway.

Chuck was dimly aware of the contrast between Blair's two bridesmaids as they came down the aisle first. Georgie's cold glare and Serena's warm beam, the look on Nate's face as he watched her that made Chuck feel even sicker – and then he stopped noticing any of it, because his eyes found Blair.

He hadn't realised how large the church was, or how long the aisle was, till he saw how tiny that white figure was in comparison.

The veil shadowed her eyes, her head lowered; but he could see even from the other end of the church that her skin was even whiter than the dress, the pearls that gleamed in the golden light of the candles and the impossibly narrow curve of her waist.

_Perfect, perfect Blair. _

His mouth was dry. Too perfect for _him_ -

And then he saw her raise her head, tracked the hollow of her throat. And the veil still covered her face, but just for a second, her eyes brushed his and he saw the expression in them.

And then he realised he could still breathe.

When she finally reached the altar her gaze was fixed ahead rather than on him. But she was close enough that he could feel her trembling. Almost undetectable, the quiver of that slender white form next to his.

Blair couldn't bring herself to look in his eyes. She could feel all the other eyes on her – Georgie, Carter, Serena, her father – and that feeling was threatening to engulf her again. If only she could stop _shaking - _

"Don't tell me you're nervous, Waldorf."

She felt his mouth against her ear. He'd leaned down to murmur into her, barely perceptible to the watching guests. And she stilled at the hard curve of his jaw above her head, just for a moment. Those dark gold eyes flickered over her face; she could feel his breath caress her neck. It was the only warm thing in the whole room.

Maybe that was why she managed to regain control of her body long enough to murmur back, "Never."

He smiled, faintly, and she found herself suddenly oddly reassured by his presence.

"We are gathered today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

They exchanged one more glance as they turned back to the priest.

And as long as Blair focused on his heat at her side and not on anything else, she was able to keep her voice clear and steady as she said her vows. (And hearing him say the same words before her was still an odd comfort – she told herself that at least he was going through the same thing).

She didn't understand how much better it suddenly made her feel; the knowledge that for this part, at least, they were in it together.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

Chuck had to concentrate on her presence next to him so that his head didn't start reeling at just how quickly it was over. How easy it was. Just like that.

He heard the priest telling him he could now kiss his bride. Funny that he hadn't even thought about this part of the ceremony – and he knew that she hadn't either.

He glanced at her. He was still watching the smooth skin of her brow and those dark eyes as he pulled her, slowly, into his arms. And in his hold he felt the slight tremor along her slender body. He leaned down into her and captured her lips with his; for a moment, she was pressed against his chest and he felt her small hands flatten against his shoulders.

It was a chaste kiss – a church kiss – but he could feel the softness of her waist and the heat of her mouth against his, even closed.

Then the organ struck up again, and the guests were getting to their feet as the doors at the other end of the church opened, waiting for the newlyweds to proceed out and into the waiting car.

Blair slipped her arm into Chuck's, fingers curling against the inside of his sleeve. And this time, she was infinitely glad to have the heat of his body to lean against as they made their way down the aisle together. Her steps were nowhere near as shaky as they'd been on the way up, and his grip was exactly as tight as she needed.

(She would deny any of it later. But in that moment, she was glad).

People cheered as they exited the cathedral, a blast of icy wind rising to meet them – but for once, for a moment, the only thing either of them were aware of was each other.

* * *

><p>Blair remembered Georgie asking why on earth she'd agreed to have the wedding reception in the Empire. The cornerstone of all Chuck's success. But it had been Blair's idea to begin with - she'd snapped back to Georgie that it was the most practical choice.<p>

She hadn't realised, now, just how beautiful and golden the Empire's ballroom would glow from her position at the top table. She'd let Chuck make the final decision for the wedding breakfast – telling him drily that he seemed to enjoy picking other people's food for them.

And the meal was exquisite. As expected.

She'd tried to savour each bite of the creamy smoked salmon, the crisp golden carrots and each perfectly roasted potato - but the day was turning into a confused blur of smiles and people's congratulations, and she felt like the only thing anchoring her was the jacket sleeve that brushed her bare arm and the heat of another thigh next to hers under the table.

His arm had stayed round the back of her chair – keeping up appearances, she reminded herself – but its weight had finally made her relax in her seat. She could feel the warmth over her uncovered shoulders. Chuck had to be just as exhausted from fending off the well-wishers as she was; his fingers had rested, a few times, on the skin of her upper arm, trailing the spot between her neck and collar bone.

Her own hand had gone to land on his thigh – she wasn't thinking clearly and he was too close – before she'd caught herself. But as her fingers had faltered in the air for a second, his larger hand had suddenly slipped over hers. Her palm half turned, instinctive, and she'd found their fingers interlinked. It was just a moment – under the table – and they'd both been very still for a second. She hadn't expected him to catch her hand in the first place, and he hadn't expected her to respond. But her fingers were suddenly twined round his and she could feel the heat of his palm.

Then the servers came to clear the plates away and they both had to reach for the next course.

"I just wanted to congratulate the happy couple again." Another guest had approached the table with a wide smile. He nodded at the respective fathers - "So nice to see the two families joined. Such a shame Mrs. Waldorf couldn't be here."

He was clearly a reporter.

Harold made a vague noise of agreement, but Bart was already clearing his throat.

"Family is very important to me."

The words couldn't have sounded more practiced; Blair and Chuck didn't even need to turn their heads to exchange an eye roll.

Then the band started to play and the guests all glanced round eagerly, waiting for the top table to rise.

Chuck caught her eye.

"Dance with me?"

Their first dance – everyone was waiting for _them. _

She managed to roll her own eyes in answer, and his mouth quirked as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. She was oddly quiet as he pulled her into his arms again, his hand sliding to her waist – and this time he took it fully in his grasp, his fingers locking with hers as he gazed down at her.

He'd wanted to make some kind of comment, but he was too aware of her small hand against his chest and her sudden proximity; her face turned up, into his, so that her liquid eyes were all he could see and her scent all he could breathe.

He led her through the steps that they both knew by heart – and he could feel the pearls of her intricate dress under his fingers, the sleek satin of the small of her back. His hand slipped up her spine, fingers catching that corner of her jaw where the skin was softest and brushing the tight line of hair at the base of her neck. And the soft music played as his hand reached her cheek and their heads drew closer together, his forehead against hers. He could feel the thump of her heart through her dress.

"Blair!"

The band stumbled to a halt, music stopping as someone lurched onto the dance floor and scattered guests far and wide.

Blair had been dangerously close to drowning in a pair of onyx eyes, so focused on the feel of his hands that it took a moment to work out what was going on. Chuck's arm was still wrapped around her waist. But she looked round and she had a sudden, awful flashback to another crowded room, everyone staring, as a ragged figure – the _same _figure_ – _made a beeline for her and she had no way of pretending not to know him.

No.

No way. Humphrey could _not _be doing this to her now.

"I need to tell you something."

He was breathless; clearly from having to struggle past the doormen. He opened his mouth – but then Chuck suddenly had him in a vice like grip and was marching him out of the room and away from the gawping guests.

Dan tried wildly to push back, till he realised that Blair was following. Her face was white with anger. Much like Chuck's. But surely it wouldn't be once -

"What," Chuck hissed, "The _hell_ are you doing here?" He ground his teeth like he was speaking to someone particularly slow while Blair snapped the door shut so no one could hear. "You. Were not invited. Do you know what that means, Humphrey? If your name is not on the guest list, it means you're not wanted. If the doormen refuse to let you in – you're not _wanted. _If no one in the room even knows who you are-"

"I know about Victrola." It wasn't exactly how Dan had planned on starting, but it had already tumbled out. It was all coming out now. "I know what you did, Chuck – I know that you went behind Carter's back to make a deal with Fabiano so you could get Victrola." He turned to Blair, insistent. "That's what the whole thing was about. He didn't want anyone to know – but you've got proof now!" He'd finally worked out how Blair could use the information he'd got to her advantage. "You can go to your father and tell him Chuck was only using you for the two million – and Victrola will prove it!"

Chuck had gone very still. He wasn't looking at Humphrey, though – his eyes were on Blair. "What do you know about Fabiano?"

But Blair was staring back. The whole thing had been over Victrola? She remembered the expression on Chuck's face as he'd shown her the place – she'd seen how much he loved it – but then why had he shown it to _her_? If he'd gone to those lengths to stop anyone else knowing about Victrola, then the fact that he'd brought her -

"Blair." Dan was determined she listen to him; she needed to understand. "Chuck was using you. But you don't have to go through with this any more – if we move now, we could probably annul the whole marriage."

Blair ignored him and his ridiculous _we_.

"Victrola?" Her eyes were still narrowed on Chuck.

"Blair," Dan tried again. "You're free!"

And, finally, Blair looked at him.

"Chuck and I are using each other," she snapped. "You fool. Why on earth would I want to annul the marriage now?"

Dan blinked. _What?_ "But-"

Chuck had had about enough of him and his stupid spluttering. "Do you really think that Blair would go through with something like this if there wasn't something in it for her? Do you really think she's that _clueless_?"

Dan couldn't believe it. He turned back to Blair – it couldn't be true. But the only expression on her face was one of irritation as she regarded him. It wasn't the expression of someone who needed – who even wanted – saving.

He stared between them. "You're as bad as he is." He couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice. And he couldn't help it – the reproach. The girl he'd spent all those days fantasizing over, standing there in her wedding dress and throwing all his attempts to help her back in his face. For once, Dan stopped seeing Chuck as the monster looming over her. He couldn't – not when they wore the same expression of disdain. Not when it couldn't be more obvious that they were on the same side_. _

"No." There was no sympathy in Blair's voice. "I'm worse. Now get out, Humphrey, before you're thrown out. Again."

They turned on each other once he was out of the way – neither of them bothered to watch him leave – and they started, furious, at the same time.

"How-"

"Why-"

"There you are!" A large man stuck his head through the door and was already reaching for Blair to usher them both out. "I've been looking everywhere for you two." It was clear, as he glanced at their clothes, that he'd made up his mind exactly what they'd been doing in that room. He was discrete enough not to comment. "It's time for your photos!"

* * *

><p>The photographer had come very close to losing his patience. He'd initially been looking forward to capturing the handsome couple. It was always a nice treat when the bride was actually pretty, but for the groom to complement her that well – in height, even in colouring – it was rare. And they looked even better when they stood together; his hand on the small of her back, her dark head against his shoulder. Chemistry.<p>

So the photographer had thought this shoot would actually be an easy one. He'd been wrong. Bride and groom seemed incapable of taking their eyes off of each other even for a second – every time the camera was in position, he'd turn to find her whispering something in his ear or his face turned towards hers.

He was sure whatever sweet nothings they were exchanging were very romantic – their gazes were certainly heated – but it was hardly appropriate for a wedding photo.

He'd ended up getting quite snappy with them, and received mutinous glares in response. The groom had been especially sharp to point out exactly who was paying who.

So it was something of a relief when they were both taken off his hands and steered away to cut their wedding cake.

* * *

><p>"You got <em>Humphrey <em>to do your spying?"

Chuck was leaning over her, pressed against her back as both their hands closed around the knife.

Aware of everyone watching, Blair didn't turn her head – though she knew if she did, her face would be seconds from his and the temptation was highly distracting – and managed to focus on the cake instead.

"This coming from the person who made a deal with _Fabiano_?" She smiled as the knife sank into the pure white icing, aware of his knuckles tightening over hers as she hissed out of the side of her mouth. "Who pays that much for a nightclub, anyway?"

The knife edge reached the bottom of the cake and Chuck's cheek was suddenly against hers as he leaned over her shoulder to remove it. "Who relies on a Brooklynite for information?"

His hand still rested on her hip as they picked up their forks; she opened her mouth to retort and found a piece of cake being pushed in instead. She forced a smile as she chewed, taking her revenge as she rammed her own fork into his mouth. He just about controlled his grimace of pain.

"Blair!" It was Serena grabbing her now. "You owe your bridesmaids a dance. And I think I managed to convince the band to play the Charleston!"

Blair blanched for a second – she'd specifically told the musicians that there would be _nothing _so gauche at her reception – but she shot Chuck another glare before the blonde dragged her off. He was glaring back. The message was clear. _This isn't over. _

* * *

><p>Naturally, Serena caught her bouquet.<p>

Georgina rolled her eyes at the girl's excitement – seriously? - and helped herself to more vodka from the bottle tucked into her garter.

Carter glanced at the sappy look Archibald was giving the blonde and his lip curled as he took another swig from his hip flask.

Then they gave each other a quick look of dislike before turning back to the now departing newly-weds.

"I'll bet you two can't wait to be alone," Howard smiled as he clapped Chuck on the back. He and Harold had spent most of the night at the supposedly dry bar; Anne had claimed a headache and hadn't been around to keep him under surveillance. Bart had already left – he was a busy man. Harold was now hovering somewhere in the background and generally acting like he wasn't there. "I always think receptions are more for the guests than the bride and groom," Howard was saying. "Things they'd much rather be doing..."

Nate intercepted his father, then, before he could get too inappropriate. But Chuck and Blair couldn't have agreed more.

The reception had seemed to drag on all night. Any time they tried to get back to each other and finish what they started, another guest had popped up or another stupid duty had needed addressing.

But now, finally – they were going to be alone.

Blair's hand was in Chuck's as they made their way out of the reception room; they were both still smiling for the benefit of the waving guests as Blair dug her nails in and Chuck tightened his fingers over hers.

It wasn't till the elevator doors had closed that their smiles dropped and they turned on each other.

"So," Chuck snarled. "What else did Humphrey dig up? Has he been rifling through my dental records too?"

Blair glowered back at him. "I don't know, Chuck. Are there any more two million dollar joints you want to tell me about?"

"Why don't you get your little monkey to find out? Maybe a bit more snooping-"

The elevator dinged; and she stared at him, beside herself now. "Snooping?" Her voice rose in sheer in outrage. "Excuse me for wanting to find out what the money I _helped _you get was going towards. Maybe if I'd known it was a debt for another _mobster_-"

"Oh, please," Chuck scoffed. "As if that wasn't the first assumption you jumped to anyway."

"You didn't tell me it was someone like _Fabiano_!" The elevator doors started to close – Blair slammed her hand on the button to open them again. "This is my investment too, remember?" She'd already turned and was storming into his suite, the white train of her dress whisked against the floor. "In fact, I have every right know exactly what's happening with our money. We had a deal, Bass!"

He followed furiously on her heels as he realised she was heading for the study; she yanked the door open and headed straight for the desk.

"The secrets stop now. Open the drawers."

His eyes narrowed. "No."

"I knew it," she hissed. "I _knew _you had no intention of helping me. I upheld my end of the bargain! This time tomorrow you'll be two dollars richer-"

"I said I'd get you out of your debts," Chuck growled. The intensity in his voice might have made anyone else flinch; his eyes were blazing, suddenly. "And I will."

"Sure," Blair sneered. "You double-crossed your supposed best friend, but I'm sure you'll keep your promise to _me." _

Chuck was silent, jaw clenched. Blair made a noise of disgust and went to turn away.

"I didn't buy Victrola." His tight voice stopped her. "I played Fabiano for it." She paused. He exhaled, shortly. "He didn't expect me to win – and then two weeks later his men had showed up claiming I'd stolen it. They wanted two million; Victrola isn't worth even half of that."

She regarded him in silence. "Why did you play in the first place?" Why put himself against someone that dangerous?

His gaze shuttered. He wasn't going to answer her.

Her teeth gritted. "Chuck-"

"I wanted Victrola."

There was another brief silence – she remembered, again, the look in his eye as he'd showed it to her that night.

"I'd already cut myself off from Bass Industries," he muttered, "And Baizen convinced me to go into business with him when we blackmailed the old owner of Gimlet. But when I saw Victrola..." His tone suddenly turned cold. "Fabiano was planning on turning it into another casino. I tried to buy it from him – he knew damn well it wasn't worth that much. But he refused. Said he'd only give it to me if I played for it."

She spoke slowly, still studying him. "But you had to know he'd never let you get away with winning."

His lips tightened and she thought he wasn't going to respond. When he finally did, he couldn't quite look at her. "I wanted Victrola." His gaze was burning. "I wanted something that was...mine."

Blair bit her lip, hard. Because she understood that desire? Because it made sense now?

But it didn't. Because if Victrola was that important to him, then why had he let her see it? She wanted to believe it was all part of the ploy to make her fall for him; but that still made no sense, because he clearly hadn't planned on her ever knowing how important the place was.

"Then-"

Her voice stuck in her throat. Why was he so _frustrating_? She could look at him and understand exactly why he'd wanted Victrola – better than she understood her own desires, even – and still he managed to completely confuse her.

She'd been _comforted _by his presence at her side today, which made no sense. She _hated_ him, but still the idea of anyone else hurting him made her feel sick. She wanted to destroy him, but the thought of betraying him _hurt. _When he laughed, he sounded like the boy that had been her best friend. But that same boy had turned on her – made it perfectly clear he couldn't stand her any more than she could him – and he'd turned into a man with the same smirk, the same glare, and the utter ruthlessness that the boy who'd used to feed the ducks with her had never been capable of. (Ruthlessness she'd never been capable of either, once upon a time). He'd mocked her, used her, manipulated her – and then right when she was at her weakest and he didn't even have to try to take her – he'd stopped and asked her _why. _

And...and there was still that gap on his bookshelf.

She couldn't take it any more. "What happened to the painting?" she demanded.

She felt him follow her gaze. Felt his eyes rest on the gap too and the sudden stiffness.

His voice was cool, but she'd _felt _that minuscule jerk of his head, away from the shelves. "What painting?"

No. No – he didn't get to do that. "You know damn well what painting."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He wasn't even looking at her; she wanted to grab his head, force his eyes back onto her.

Her hands clenched at her sides.

"Where is it?"

"I don't know," he snarled. "Maybe it ended up in the trash."

But her neck prickled she remembered his refusal to show her what was in those damn drawers – and she could feel their presence behind her.

"I don't think it did."

They both lunged at the same time.

But Chuck was stronger, and she ended up trapped against the desk as he managed to force her against it. She twisted, violently – he grabbed her wrists and tried to pin them above her head. His hips pressed, hard, against hers as she wriggled.

And then his face was inches from hers and his eyes black.

And when he kissed her, it was nothing like their kiss in the church. This time her tongue and teeth battled with his, their lips bruising each other as a trapped moan rose in her throat. His body was hard above hers, the edge of the desk digging into her spine.

She bit, savagely, down on his lip.

He reared back as she tasted blood.

And her legs nearly gave way beneath her, because he'd jerked away and she had only the desk for support. His eyes were still black – they flashed with something furious (self-loathing) as she struggled to regain her breathing.

And she was dimly, painfully aware that she hadn't bitten his lip to make him stop.

For a moment she couldn't look at him.

Her gaze flickered round the study instead – another argument in this damn room; why did she keep ending up here? - and she finally let out a short breath.

"I need a drink. Now."

* * *

><p>It was odd how relaxed she felt with a glass of that cocktail in her hand, on that same sofa in front of the fireplace she now knew. (Almost at home, though she'd never admit <em>that<em>). Her legs were crossed, the silk of her skirt pooled white against the sofa's red velvet. The firelight gave her skin and the material of her wedding dress a faint amber glow.

Chuck was nursing his own glass of scotch as gazed at the flames. He still couldn't look at her.

But he sensed her tilt the glass to her lips; sensed the last drop slide down her throat.

"Thank you." She spoke into the silence, sounding very reluctant.

"It's not that hard, Waldorf." His own voice was little more than a murmur. "I can show you how to make it, if you like."

They were both ignoring what had happened in that study. Even though her lips still burned and his own hadn't quite stopped bleeding.

She cleared her throat. "I meant...thank you for today." He glanced at her, and she sat up even straighter. "For – not making it entirely horrible."

He was silent. "I'm sorry it wasn't the day you wanted." He tried to keep his voice as indifferent as possible, but it came out rough and uneven even to him. He was sorry for a hell of a lot more than that.

"I suppose the Humphrey debacle was partially my fault," she allowed with even greater reluctance. Her eyes rolled a little. "But the reception was otherwise...pretty perfect."

He gave her another glance, brow furrowed imperceptibly. That hadn't been what he'd meant.

Humphrey had to have been the least of her concerns.

"I was...referring to your choice in groom."

She paused.

What would this day have been like, she wondered, if it had been Louis she was marrying? A huge ceremony in Monaco in his mother's dress. An even longer reception. Louis' kiss in the church would surely have been perfectly sweet. He would have taken _Bleh Waldorf _to be his lawfully wedded wife. And she'd be...content. Content and frustrated and utterly bored.

She'd have money. She'd be a princess who received everything on a silver platter and didn't have to worry her pretty little head about any financial decisions. All she'd have to do was smile and hold Louis' hand. Follow him to event after event, shake hands with the poor and spend long hours in art galleries pretending to like cubism. Pretending to be _nice. _

She didn't realise, till that moment, just how stifled that prospect made her feel.

"Well." She forced away the thought – and the odd feeling as it occurred to her that she'd never have to face that again. "If you're really going to help me-" His gaze was just as sharp, and she swallowed as she finally accepted that maybe he really was; "Then...that's all I wanted." Her eyes flickered to the fire for a moment too. "I needed a rich husband. And you're that, so..."

He was also a husband who could pronounce her name properly. A husband who was capable of making smart decisions to rival her own – who understood the need for money and knew that she did to. Who knew she was clever. Who listened to her, even if it was just to deliberately oppose her.

A husband who didn't expect her to be demure or self-defacing or humble or sweet.

Who didn't expect her to be anything less than she was.

"I'm that," he murmured in agreement. If she thought there was anything odd in his voice, she didn't show it.

He'd never liked thinking about Blair as a kid. It made him feel uneasy (surely because it ruined all those fantasies of violating her), so he'd tried to make all those memories disappear.

Perhaps it was seeing her all in white now – pristine little dresses when they'd been kids, the perfect lace at her First Communion when they'd spent the whole service making faces at the other brats from Sunday school – or perhaps it was the scotch. But he remembered a girl who'd told him she wouldn't settle for anything less than a husband who she loved to the ends of the earth. Who she'd _die _for.

(He'd snorted, then, because what husband would dare not feel the same way about her?)

He rarely let himself think about her as a kid - but he'd always remembered _that, _and he'd always scoffed to think of the poor fool who ended up married to her.

He found himself thinking about the look Nate had given Serena in the church. And he found himself wondering, briefly, how he and Blair had found it so _easy_ to stop buying into that true lovebullshit.

"So." She set her glass down. "Fabiano's coming back this month. Are we going to sort this, or not?"

We?

She was actually going to help him? Still?

He looked at her, and he suddenly needed to make it very clear. She needed to believe him this time. "As soon as it's sorted-"

"I know." Her eyes finally met his. "You'll help me. I wouldn't be doing this otherwise," she informed him matter of factly. "And...you know that I'll destroy you if you don't."

His answer should have been that he'd like to see her try; but he noticed at the same time that she'd said _if. _ He found his mouth twitching instead.

"I do."

* * *

><p>She met him as she came out of the bathroom. She'd needed a soak – and to get out of her wedding dress. It was late and she was exhausted.<p>

He'd loosened his tie and lost the jacket; but he was still in his shirt and dress shoes, and she suddenly felt very bare in comparison. And small, with her hair loose and and her toes sinking into the plush carpet.

He noticed that her nightdress was nowhere near as puritanical as he'd once imagined. And still there was that little bow at its centre, and she smelt of soap and toothpaste.

"So." She tucked her hair behind her ear, hating how young it suddenly made her feel. "I'll see you in the morning."

She'd already taken over the guest room – spending the night in separate buildings would have aroused far too much suspicion.

He paused as he gazed down at her. She wished, irrationally, that there wasn't quite such a height difference so that his head didn't tilt at that angle and she didn't have to bare her throat just to look at him.

But she needn't have worried about Chuck noticing her discomfort – he was busy struggling with the desire that had just gripped him. To have that warm little body in bed with his. (He wasn't even imagining fucking her either – he just suddenly wanted that head on his pillow and that body curled on his sheets and the taste of that scent; that warm waist curved in his arms-)

"Sleep well." His voice drawled, deliberately, as he dragged his eyes up from the bow and back to her face. "And...if you get lonely at any point in the night..."

"I'm locking my door."

His smirk was faint. "Well," he murmured, "Mine is always open."

"Good night, Bass."

He grinned as he watched her turn, more to get the impossible idea of her - at his doorway in the middle of the night – out of his head. "Night, Waldorf."

She paused. She was already halfway to her door, head tipped back for a moment over her shoulder as she glanced at him. "Technically...it's not Waldorf any more."

Then she was gone.

He watched her door close and waited for the sound of the lock. It never came – and he knew, as he swallowed because his mouth had suddenly gone very dry – that it made no difference anyway. But he still found himself wishing she'd locked it so that he could tell himself he'd at least get _some _sleep tonight.


	19. Chapter 19

Serena had insisted on dragging Blair to lunch so she could hear all about the night before. (Chuck wondered briefly what she'd tell the blonde. He wouldn't even have to lie if anyone questioned him, he realised – he'd been up all night).

He was busy working out the final details for his trust fund now. And he wanted to work out just how much he could afford for the Waldorf debts; he'd already got in contact with his inside man at the state bureau.

He tilted back in his chair, glancing at the grey sky outside. Perhaps, he reflected, this was why most newly-weds jumped on the excuse of a honeymoon and disappeared somewhere warm for a couple of weeks.

He and Blair had claimed to have too much to do to go away with each other. That wasn't a lie either. But perhaps when all this business was behind them a beach holiday was in order...just to keep up appearances. He tried not to think about Blair in a swim suit. Her bare skin heated by the sun.

She'd probably refuse to go anywhere with him anyway. But maybe if he convinced her they could get separate rooms -

"Chuck Bass."

The name was spoken slowly, pleasantly.

Chuck froze in his seat.

"You weren't expecting me, were you?"

Paolo Fabiano was standing in the doorway of his office.

* * *

><p>Serena had been exhausting at lunch; all cheeky grins and pointed comments and unsubtle nudges as she took particular delight in the fact that Blair clearly hadn't got a wink of sleep last night.<p>

It was when she'd started asking if Blair's first time was everything she'd imagined that Blair had finally jumped to her feet.

"I just remembered I said I'd meet Georgie."

Serena had raised an eyebrow. "Georgie...or _Chuck_?" She'd looked very pleased with herself for working it out.

"Georgie," Blair had lied, furiously. "Chuck's at work."

"So maybe you can surprise him..."

Blair had stormed out then. "You're impossible, S!"

Technically she would be surprising him; she'd planned on being able to last the lunch a lot longer. But this way they could go over the last details before they went to the bank and Chuck got access to his money.

Gimlet was deserted when she arrived – it was a Sunday afternoon, after all.

But she could see the light on in Chuck's office. She managed to force her thoughts away from thoughts of _surprising _him (disgusting, she told herself again) as she pulled her coat a little tighter and marched up to the door.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing here?"<p>

Fabiano had taken the seat opposite him, dropping his hat on Chuck's desk as he crossed one leg over the other. "Well," he mused, "I wasn't meant to arrive for another week, but then I got wind of an offer I just couldn't refuse."

He was a tall man, olive skinned and silver haired with the flat black stare of a serpent. Chuck had once scoffed at his ridiculous nickname – Snake Eyes – but he had to admit that it was apt.

And once you knew Fabiano, you knew that there was nothing ridiculous about him.

"Actually," the man went on as his heavy lidded gaze landed on Chuck, "I have you to thank."

"For what?"

His lips stretched in a smile. "For putting Victrola back on the market. Murphy wasn't so sure about selling to begin with, but...well, you know how persuasive I can be."

Chuck went very still.

The one thing he'd been able to console himself with, after he'd had to sell, was the fact that Victrola was at least going into good hands. He'd trusted Murphy.

How the hell had Fabiano found out?

"But I'm not happy." He shook his head. "Not happy at all."

"And why is that?" Chuck's tone stayed even as he regarded the other man. (Had Humphrey told? But the guy didn't have the guts or the know-how to even get in contact with an associate of Fabiano's).

"You didn't take very good care of my club, did you?"

Chuck felt suddenly sick, and it wasn't because Fabiano was calling Victrola _his. _It hadn't been Humphrey.

Would she -

(And could he even blame her?)

"Not to mention how long I've had to go without the money I'm owed. You've cost me a few, Chuck."

"You'll have your two million by the end of the day."

Fabiano cracked his knuckles, sparing him a glance. "Two million? No."

"That's how much we agreed on," Chuck snarled.

The mobster just shook his head. "After all the trouble you've caused me? No. I want double that."

Chuck stared at him for a second. This couldn't be happening. "You want _four million dollars_?"

"I'm feeling generous," Fabiano shrugged. "I'll give you till tomorrow."

Chuck felt his jaw clench. "I have no way of getting that much." Fabiano knew damn well that he didn't.

The man just sighed. He rose to his feet, placing his hat back on his head. "I'm sorry to hear that, Chuck. Life's tough, you know? You get a pretty little wife. Think things are going great. Bet she's waiting at your penthouse now - must be nice to come home to, huh?"

Chuck went very rigid. _"Don't."_

Fabiano just shrugged again. "And then suddenly there's a body floating in the river and no one knows what happened."

Chuck stared at him with absolute loathing. "I'll get you the money." It was little more than a hiss.

Fabiano smiled. "That's what I like to hear, Chuck." He gave the man a pat on the shoulder, eyes cold. "I know I can count on you to come through, huh?"

He tipped his hat before he turned and walked out, narrowly missing the brunette that had flattened herself against the wall to hear every word.

* * *

><p>"Hey."<p>

His hands tightened on the papers he was now, surely, pretending to read - but he didn't glance up. She studied him for a moment in silence. His face was still white, his expression quite blank.

"Sorry." He was on his feet all of a sudden, moving across the room as he spared her only the briefest of looks. "I'm late for the bank – we'll have to strategise tonight."

She paused. "I'll come with you."

He was already pulling his coat on. "What for?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "To help. I thought we agreed-"

"I don't need you to hold my hand while they unfreeze the account, Blair." Her name was a snap that made them both almost flinch. But then that mask slid back into place. "I'll let you know how it goes."

He was practically at the door; and she'd suddenly moved after him and had grabbed his sleeve. "Chuck. Wait."

He stiffened at the feel of her fingers on his coat. "What?"

And she gazed up at him, searching his face. He still couldn't look at her. Why didn't he just_ tell_ her about Fabiano?

And that was when it struck her. Cold. Of course - he probably assumed she was one who'd sold him out. Who else would it have been?

As far as he knew, she was the only person aware of Victrola. Humphrey hardly counted. But there _was _someone else who might have known, Blair realised. She felt a little sick as she remembered Georgie arranging to meet Humphrey without her knowledge. How many times could that have happened?

"Nothing," she said now. Her fingers loosened their hold. "I...just wanted to tell you I don't need a ride tonight. For the gala. I'll meet you there."

She had something else she needed to do first.

He just nodded. And then, for a moment, he paused. His hand caught her elbow just as she'd started backing away. "Did you see anyone as you came in?"

They stared at each other.

Then Blair shook her head. "No."

His face was blank again. "Right." He released her. "I'll see you tonight, then." And this time he left without looking back.

Blair exhaled. Then she moved out of the office too, heading in the opposite direction. She needed to _find _Georgina.

* * *

><p>"Stop right there."<p>

Carter physically stopped him before he could get in the elevator and back up to his suite. To his study and his accounts – even though he already knew there was no way in hell he could come up with another two million.

"I don't care if you're married or not," Carter smirked. "Tonight you and me are hitting the town. Hell, you can even bring Blair along if you insist. And right now we're going to open the most expensive bottle of fizz we've got." His eyes gleamed with triumph – he knew Chuck had just got back from the bank. "I think we can afford it now."

"Not now, Baizen." Chuck sounded flat. "I'm tired."

Carter arched an eyebrow. "I meant to ask you how last night went." He was still smirking. "Looks like the whole monogamy thing paid off, huh? About time too. It's not healthy to go that long-"

"I _said," _Chuck growled, "Not now."

His friend's lip twisted a little. "What's your problem this time? Don't tell me," - it had become a taunt - "You're worried you care about her now? You don't need to, genius. She's yours."

He frowned when he saw the absolute fury in Chuck's eyes.

"Jesus. Fine, you don't care about her. But you got the money. So why the hell are you still so miserable?" His gaze narrowed suddenly as he regarded Chuck. "Unless you didn't get the money. Is this _still _not sorted, Bass?"

Chuck didn't miss the faint note of danger in his voice. Distrust. It was a thin reminder – still. The topic that neither of them talked about that never went away, that faint edge of pure resentment.

"It's sorted," he snapped. "I've got my trust fund."

There was a pause. "Good," Carter said at last. "So tonight we celebrate." The challenge was clear – almost a threat.

"Tonight I'm going to a charity gala."

"Fine," Baizen ground before he stalked off. "Tomorrow night, then."

It was guilt, Chuck told himself savagely as he summoned the elevator. He just felt bad for dragging her into this. She'd never asked - never wanted - to be his pretty little wife. It was his fault that Fabiano seemed to think -

_You're worried you care about her now?_

No – Chuck was furious. Furious that the thought of Fabiano touching one hair on her head was making him lose the capacity to think. He needed a plan. He needed to work out how the hell he was going to get his hands on two more million dollars.

And that sense of furious despair was threatening to engulf him.

* * *

><p>Georgina was in the middle of primping her hair for her latest date when Blair's face appeared next to hers in the mirror.<p>

"Finally," she sighed. "Did blondie really keep you that long? You can stop smiling now. I want to know every awful detail."

She glanced at Blair's reflection – the other girl wasn't smiling at all. Slowly, Georgie turned to her. She could see the look in her eye now.

"Did we," Blair said quite evenly, "Or did we not have a conversation where I told you _not _to go to Fabiano?"

Georgie rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror. "God, yes. Don't remind me. If you'd just listened, then maybe you wouldn't have to keep pretending to play nice-"

"Why the hell didn't _you _listen?" Blair hissed.

Her friend raised an eyebrow at her. "What are you talking about?"

"I know damn well that you sold Chuck out, Georgie. What exactly did you tell him?"

A look of irritation crossed the other brunette's face. "Who? Fabiano? Nothing." Her eyes hardened for a second. "Why are you jumping down my throat to defend _Chuck, _anyway?"

"I'm not _defending_ him," Blair's eyes flashed, dangerous. (And Georgina thought that her voice sounded far too high). "But I _told _you not involve Fabiano. I can't believe you'd be so stupid!"

Georgie's eyes slanted in answer. "And I told you I didn't. You don't trust me now?"

"You're the only person who knew about the Fabiano deal in the first place," Blair responded icily. "And Dan told you about Victrola, didn't he?"

"The club that Chuck sold?" Georgie's eyebrows were still raised. "Humphrey was the one doing the spying. Why aren't you asking _him_?"

Blair just gave her a look. "Humphrey? Seriously?"

The other girl scowled in irritation. "Well, I wasn't the only one who knew about the Fabiano deal. What about Carter?" Blair's face hardened, as she'd known it would, at the mention of the man's name. "Carter's the one that Chuck double-crossed to begin with," Georgie reminded her. "If anyone _sold him out, _or whatever it was you said - don't you think it's most likely to be him?"

"They're in business together," Blair pointed out scornfully. But Georgie could tell that the idea of arguing _for_ Carter didn't agree with her. "What possible motive would he have-"

"This is _Carter Baizen." _Georgina cut her straight off. "It's not like he needs a motive to stir up trouble or backstab his best friend. But if you're really looking for one – what about you?"

Well, that got her attention. Blair stared at her, suddenly stiff. "What are you talking about?"

Georgie rolled her eyes again. "Please. Who does Chuck scheme with now? Spend all his time with?" She scoffed. "Worse than that – who does Chuck make business decisions with now? Their little partnership means nothing if he's on the way to being replaced. You want motive? Now that Chuck's got you, Carter's becoming more and more irrelevant. You've stolen his best friend."

"Please," Blair snapped back. Stolen his best friend? "How old are we, six?"

Georgie gave a little shrug. "The point is, Baizen doesn't like feeling threatened. "

"Baizen knows Chuck doesn't care about me," Blair said. Her tone was quite hard. "He knows that this is nothing more than business."

Georgie studied her perfectly composed face. Did _Blair _know that, though? "True," she agreed at last. She said it deliberately, still watching for Blair's reaction. The girl's eyes were blank for a moment. "But it's business that he's not involved with."

Blair made a little noise of disgust. Like she still didn't quite believe Georgie – but Georgie knew that wasn't the real reason she was now turning away.

"I have to go get dressed for tonight."

"Enjoy."

Georgie turned back to the mirror and picked up her lipstick; two full, brilliant red lines as she pursed her lips. Her cold smile stared back at her. It didn't reach her eyes.

* * *

><p>Blair knew that her dress was gorgeous. It was champagne silk and black patterned, looping round her neck and leaving her back entirely bare. She was showing more skin that usual tonight – she'd even pinned her hair up, could feel the air on the nape of her neck - which was why she knew something was wrong with Chuck. As if that hollow, feverish look in his eyes or his permanently clenched jaw hadn't told her already.<p>

He wasn't even bothering to smile at the people at the gala.

And despite her exposed back and shoulders, he still wasn't looking at her.

If he'd just _talk _to her, she thought with frustration, then maybe they could think of a way to get the money together. Although she already knew he'd reached the same conclusion she had – how? Two million dollars by tomorrow night wasn't possible.

He hadn't even turned up drunk. This wasn't like their engagement party. It was much, much worse.

She'd tried to keep herself busy circulating the room – but, as ever, her eyes kept drifting back to him. He was at the bar now. Still not drinking. And still not entirely in the room, she could tell.

"Aha. You must be the new Mrs. Bass."

She turned to find a man she didn't recognise. He was smiling at her, perfectly charming, but she couldn't quite shake the sense that he didn't _belong _here as she smiled back. There was something about his tuxedo that was too slick, too much oil in his hair and the wrong look in his eyes.

Where was he even from?

She knew everyone at these events.

"A pleasure to meet you." She kept her tone polite. "Mr-?"

"Scalise." He held onto her hand for longer than appropriate, and she tried to repress a frown. She was already making plans move away when, suddenly, there was another man at his side. She didn't know him either. "And this is Frank."

She opened her mouth to excuse herself, suddenly disliking how claustrophobic she felt – and a hand caught the small of her back.

She didn't even need to turn; she could feel the hardness of his body behind hers.

"Blair."

She glanced up into his face. But her eyes had already followed his to a spot on the other side of the room. She'd only caught a glimpse of the man as he'd come out of Chuck's office – but the way Chuck was looking at him now erased any question of doubt.

Fabiano nodded over at them, raising his glass. The guys that clearly worked for him grinned back.

And then Chuck was dragging her away, and she had to focus on keeping up with him and keeping a smile on her face so that no one else in the room thought it odd that they were barrelling straight for the exit.

"Blair! I see you brought your husband-"

"Just going to get some air," Blair assured a bewildered looking socialite as Chuck didn't even stop.

He was already signalling his car round.

"Chuck-"

"We're going home."

He didn't say anything else in the car ride. He still wasn't looking at her – but his grip on her waist stayed the same, all the way up to his suite. She didn't think he'd even realised.

And this time he did move straight for the bar. She grabbed the bottle from his hands, banging it down on the side.

"_Chuck." _She held his gaze. "Talk to me. Now."

"I have a headache," he muttered as he reached for the bottle again.

"Well," she snapped, her own fingers closing on its neck before he could get to it; "This isn't going to help, then, is it?"

"Don't tell me what to do," he snarled.

"I'm _not_."

They glared at each other – but she could tell from the look in his eyes that he was already starting to shut her out. She was about to lose him, she realised.

She let go of the bottle.

"Just let me help."

She suddenly wanted him – needed him – to understand that she _hadn't _been the one to betray him. Even though that small voice in the back of her head whispered that if it had been Georgie, it was her fault anyway.

But if he'd just talk to her then they could try to fix this. If he'd just _talk _to her -

"For the last time," his voice was a low growl, "I don't need your help."

"Well, you're getting it."

His fists clenched and he found himself wishing, irrationally, she didn't look so damn beautiful as she stared up at him_. _

"Chuck." She spoke softly. "Tell me what's wrong." She searched his face; waiting for him.

And he didn't understand that sudden urge to tell her everything – to admit that he didn't know what to do. Because she was _looking _at him like she understood.

And that was when he realised he did know what he had to do.

"I can't do this any more," he said, flatly. He turned his back on her and pulled down a glass from his cabinet, picking up the bottle again. "That _gala_...made me realise. I don't want to spend the rest of my life holding your hand at charity events. Pretending to behave. Acting like a doting _husband._" The word was a stiff sneer on his lips as he finally looked at her. "I don't want to do it any more."

He saw her swallow. Still, she folded her arms. "What about our deal?" She sounded very quiet.

He just shrugged. "I've got my trust fund now. I don't see why we should carry on with the charade." His lip curled. "How did you think this was going to work, anyway? You stay in your penthouse and I stay in mine while everyone wonders, year after year, why there are no bouncing Bass babies on the way?" He gave a little scoff. "We won't even need to get a divorce. Unconsummated marriages can just be annulled." He looked at her. "Can't they? Maybe next time you'll have better luck with another prince."

"You promised you'd help me."

He released a little laugh; it came out harsh and inhuman as he turned away from those brown eyes and focused on pouring his drink. "Since when have I ever kept my promises?"

He was lying. He couldn't even look at her. She finally stopped pretending to care about their deal – this was about Fabiano, and she knew it.

"I don't believe you."

His shoulders straightened in his suit. It was a moment before he finally turned back to her.

"I'm telling you you're free to go, Waldorf. Go back to your penthouse and pretend that none of this ever happened." He paused. "I'm sorry. The truth is... I can't help you anyway."

He finally downed the glass of liquid, and he forced himself to focus on the burn rather than her white face as his gaze returned to the bottle. Anywhere rather than at her.

"Go home."

There was a silence. Then he heard the brush of her dress against the floor, footsteps fading as the elevator doors closed.

_She must be nice to come home to, huh? _

Well, Fabiano wouldn't find her in his suite now. His fingers were still tightened around his scotch glass as he picked up the telephone receiver.

"Arthur? I need you to follow Blair home. Don't let her out of your sight until you're sure she's in the building."

Yes, Chuck thought blankly. He knew what he had to do now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - I was literally blown away by all your amazing reviews last chapter; thank you so, so much! It was one of my favourite chapters to write, so I'm so glad people enjoyed it :)**


	20. Chapter 20

As she moved into her penthouse, Blair was busy trying to convince herself that she didn't care what had just happened, that she was just upset because Chuck wouldn't (couldn't) help her and that she had no desire to go back and shake him till he told her the truth.

So busy that it took her a moment to realise Harold was actually home. These days her father rarely got back from whatever business he was conducting till gone midnight.

But now he was here, rushing out to meet her. "Blair bear! What are you doing home? I thought you were at that gala?"

"Chuck had a headache," she muttered back. If her father thought it was odd that she wasn't with her husband, he didn't say. Then she glanced at him properly and saw the huge grin on his face.

"What's going on?"

"We're saved, my darling."

Blair just stared at him.

Harold was leading her into the other room, clearing his throat in excitement.

"You may have noticed I've been spending a lot of time with Howard Archibald recently. I didn't want to tell you till I'd sorted a few things, but...we've entered into business together."

Oh, God. "What kind of business?" Blair asked warily – but Harold was already waving aside her concerns.

"The point is, it paid off." He beamed at her. "We're debt free, Blair!"

Blair still just stared. _Debt free_? Just like that? How on earth had her father been able to come up with that much money? Whatever business he and Howard had couldn't possibly be legal.

"Daddy-"

"And that's not even the best part." He was still grinning as he took her hands and tugged her down on the sofa with him. "Darling – you don't have to stay married to Chuck."

Blair blinked. "What?"

She didn't understand. If there really were no more debts, then everything she'd been doing had been for nothing and she really didn't need Chuck's help. It couldn't possibly just be over like that, could it?

"I'm saying we can get you _out_ of this marriage."

"But," she struggled to get her thoughts in order, "I thought you wanted me to marry him?"

Had it really all been for nothing?

(And, dimly, she was aware that her father had just echoed Chuck. There was no need to carry on being his wife. So why didn't that make her feel._..free_?_)_

Harold, however, looked a little uncomfortable. "Well...it was necessary at the time. I thought it would be for the best. But now," he added more positively, "It's not an issue."

For the best.

Blair frowned as she suddenly remembered Harold saying the same thing on her wedding day. But she only realised, now, that there was something distinctly odd about it. Harold hadn't mentioned anything about it being _necessar_y when he'd first told her. She remembered him telling her Chuck loved her; that they'd be a good match.

"So when you said you thought I'd be happy with him-?"

It had really been all about money?

Harold looked even more uneasy. "I'm sorry, darling. I just...I didn't have a choice."

Blair didn't know why it was bothering her so much. So her father had never thought she'd be happy with Chuck? Which meant that he'd...lied to her. A white lie, surely. And lies had never bothered Blair before – but Harold had never lied to her before.

That was the kind of thing she'd expect her mother to do.

And that wasn't the only thing that was off.

Didn't have a choice? The only way that made sense was if Chuck had bribed Harold with promises of money; if Harold had thought, like Eleanor, that marrying Blair off was the only way to get more funds. (And she hated that the idea of her father doing what Eleanor had made her chest quite so tight). But how had Chuck known to offer money? The Waldorfs had kept up the impression that they were perfectly financially secure for a long time.

And if Chuck somehow _had_ known, then why hadn't he cut all the crap and just tried promising _her_ money to begin with?

"What exactly did Chuck say to you?" she asked. She could still hear the confusion in her voice.

What had made Harold think that he was the only choice?

"Wh – that's not important now, is it?' Harold shook his head. "Because we can get you out of this. I can get in touch with a divorce lawyer tomorrow-"

He was trying too hard to change the subject. But _why? _

"Did Chuck threaten you?" she asked suddenly. She didn't like how sick the idea made her feel. (She didn't like that she couldn't quite believe he _would _do something like that.) This was Chuck Bass. He was hardly unfamiliar with blackmail. It was just that the idea of him involving her father -

"Blair," Harold said, and she didn't miss the faintest note of desperation in his voice, "It doesn't matter."

Didn't matter? "I married him." Blair was aware that she was using a tone she never had with her father before; she checked herself, quickly. This was Harold. "Daddy, if he promised you money after we got married – then, technically, he owes you."

She knew damn well (painfully well) that Chuck had no way of giving Harold any money. She was just trying to make sense of it. Because her father had been so _insistent - _

An odd look had crossed Harold's face. He glanced down at his shoes. "He doesn't owe me money," he murmured at last. He deflated. "I...owe him."

_What? _

Her father suddenly reached for her hands again. "But I can pay it back now," he insisted. "It's all sorted, sweetheart."

"I don't understand."

Harold sighed. "When I came back from France...I was desperate, Blair bear. You have to understand. I thought I'd found a way of getting all our money back. And that was all I wanted to do."

Blair still didn't understand. But there was a feeling of dread – she didn't know where from – creeping up her spine. Perhaps it was the look in her father's eye. The guilt, she realised.

"So when he told me about a game-"

"Who?" Blair demanded sharply. "Chuck?"

Her father and a game.

"No," Harold mumbled. "Someone called Carter Baizen." (Carter hadn't spent most of his early childhood at the Waldorfs; Harold wouldn't have recognised him.) "I didn't even realise Chuck was involved till I got there -"

"And you lost."

"Yes," her father said, quietly. His gaze met hers. And for once, the brown eyes that she'd always thought held all the answers just looked empty. "It wasn't my idea, Blair bear. I would never have suggested something like that-"

"Something like what?"

It wasn't a question, not really.

Harold glanced away. And it struck her just how tired and old he really looked. "You and Chuck used to be friends," he made one last attempt. "I didn't think it would be-"

"Something like what?"

The man was silent.

"So how much," she asked very softly, "Did you lose me for?" She fought to keep her voice even; to stop it breaking.

Harold stopped trying to hold her hand – but she knew before he'd even answered. "Two million."

Blair nodded and swallowed.

"Sweetheart," her father pleaded. "I made a mistake. But I can fix it now-"

"No." It came out strange and distant as she realised that she couldn't look at her father any more. Because she felt like she'd crumble if she did; she felt _hollow_. Like the ground had suddenly been ripped out from under her. How could Harold possibly undo that? "You can't."

"Blair-"

"Don't touch me." Her voice cracked, horribly, and her eyes were stinging as she stumbled to her feet.

So Harold let go of her – but he stood up too. His shoulders were stooped and his gaze creased.

"I'm still your father," he murmured.

"Fathers don't-" It caught in her throat and she realised she couldn't complete the sentence. It wasn't _fathers_; it was Harold. Harold didn't. Harold didn't let her down. Harold didn't leave her feeling like she'd been slapped in the face, kicked in the stomach.

And even as she told herself that he must have been desperate, that this was all Chuck and Carter's fault and her father had probably been powerless to stop it – even then, the pain didn't go away.

And it hurt ten times more because Harold had never, never been the cause of that pain before.

"Darling-"

"I'm going to bed."

Harold nodded. "Good idea," he managed. "You need rest. We can talk tomorrow."

Blair paused. Talk about what, exactly? She swallowed as she glanced at him one last time.

"Blair...it's over now."

It was, she realised bleakly. She nodded and Harold held out his arms.

She just stared at him for a moment. At his tired, hopeful face and those outstretched arms. "I wish you'd never come back from France," she whispered.

And then she fled.

* * *

><p>Carter was annoyed. In fact, he was downright pissed. And uneasy. He hadn't seen Chuck all day – not since the other man had practically bitten his head off yesterday – and now that night was falling, there was still no sign of him. Carter had suspected he might try to blow off their plans for tonight, which was why he'd gone looking for him.<p>

But Chuck wasn't at Gimlet. He wasn't at the Empire. He wasn't in his suite, or in any of the joints they frequented.

So Carter had got in touch with their accountant. And that was when the unease had started to kick in.

The accountant had informed him that Chuck had, indeed, gained access to his trust yesterday. And then he'd told him that the account had been drained. All the money withdrawn.

Fabiano wasn't due to arrive for another week – why the hell would Chuck have taken out two million now? Carrying around that much cash was ludicrous.

And, more importantly, where the hell was he now?

The sun had sunk low in the sky, streaking the sky red as shadows lengthened over the city and the streetlights flickered on. Carter turned up his collar against the bitter evening air, eyes moving over the building in front of him.

The Waldorf penthouse was the last place he wanted to go.

But it looked like he didn't have a choice.

* * *

><p><em>Midnight tonight. Victrola. <em>

The note was delivered to Fabiano and signed _C. B._

* * *

><p>Carter found the apartment strangely quiet. Not that he'd been there enough to know what it was usually like – but there was something eerie, now, about the silence and all the darkened rooms, bathed red in the light of the setting sun.<p>

He rolled his eyes and shoved the feeling away.

This was the last place he could think of to look for Chuck – and it seemed like no one was even here.

Maybe what was really making his blood run cold was the realisation he had no choice but to face now. Chuck, Blair, and the money were all missing.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice was icy – and it would have startled him had it not filled him with sudden relief.

Blair was staring down at him from the stairs.

So one of them, at least, was still here.

He noticed as he glanced at her that she seemed paler and colder than usual. He would have put it down to his presence, but her eyes were shadowed too - like she'd got no sleep last night.

And the only reason he could think of for that was Chuck.

Chuck must have taken the money and run.

"I'm looking for Bass."

Her face was still cold. "Well, he's not here."

"I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"And?"

Carter rolled his eyes again. He couldn't tell if she knew or not – he realised he'd have to tell her the truth if he wanted to find out.

"He's drained the trust fund," he said curtly. "Did he tell you he was skipping town?"

Blair's lips pinched for a second. She knew – she knew _something_. He was sure of it. She looked even paler in the dim light.

"Where is he?" Carter snarled.

She gave him a look of contempt. "I have no idea. But I think you just answered your own question, didn't you?" Her lip curled. "Looks like all your hard work was for nothing."

Something about the bitterness in her voice made Carter consider. Perhaps Blair had found out the truth and she and Chuck had had a little lovers' spat - and perhaps that was why he'd left. (Because Carter knew. He'd always known what Bass was like when it came to Blair, no matter how much the other man tried to deny it).

"Where's Harold?" he asked. He knew how much of a daddy's girl Blair was supposed to be – that was why he'd laid the trap for the man in the first place. He'd known it would work.

But he looked at her now, judging her reaction. And, sure enough, her lips tightened again. No doubt. She knew about the deal.

(He felt another flicker of irritation; he hoped Bass hadn't been stupid enough to tell her. Talk about ruining all Carter's carefully laid plans).

"Look," he sighed. "I wanted to say – no hard feelings, ok? Business is business. I'm not a fan of girls with daddy issues, but you had to knock him off his pedestal sooner or later. Everyone lets you down, sooner or later." He glanced at her. "You know that."

Her face was whiter than marble. "Get out."

"Blair-"

"I said _get out_," she hissed. "You can pass on my congratulations to Chuck. If you ever see him again."

Carter looked at her. "It wasn't his idea, ok?" He dropped the drawl. "I don't think he even wanted-"

"I said leave!"

Her eyes were dry and her face still bone white as he finally gave a sigh of frustration and left.

* * *

><p>"Chuck."<p>

Fabiano smiled as he emerged from the dark gleam of Victrola's bar. Chuck could see two more shadowy figures behind him, bulk in the darkness.

"Right on time."

The club's low side lights flickered on to illuminate the gleam of their guns. Fabiano's gaze fell to the briefcase Chuck was holding.

"And I see you have something for me."

He reached out to take it from him; he clucked lightly as he raised it to test its weight. "Sure feels light for four million bucks."

"It's two million."

Fabiano glanced at his guys behind him. "Where's the rest?" His voice was low, dangerous.

Chuck looked back coldly. "I told you I don't have it."

The corner of Fabiano's mouth twisted. "I thought I made it pretty clear, Chuck. You show up here and you don't have what you owe me – you pay the consequence."

Chuck said nothing.

"All right then," Fabiano sighed. "If that's the way you want it." He gave a nod to one of the men.

And then all the air rushed out of Chuck's stomach as a fist slammed into it, white searing pain as he bent double and suddenly realised he couldn't breathe.

His teeth clenched as he struggled upright, straightening in his suit – and then he was hit again, in the same spot, and he could see the guy on Fabiano's other side flexing his knuckles.

"I gave you a chance," Fabiano sighed as another blow landed – Chuck couldn't see, couldn't breathe - "And you got the cheek to come here without the money-"

"He has the money."

The clear voice cut him off.

And Chuck thought for a second that the punches had somehow affected his brain; because he could see, through a haze of pain, a high-buttoned coat and a pair of dark eyes and_ she _couldn't possibly be_ here. _

She drew closer, close enough for him to see how pale her cheeks were from the cold. He wasn't hallucinating.

"Well, well. What's this?" Fabiano was looking her up and down now.

She couldn't be here. "Blair-" As he tried to move towards her he received another blow, one that turned her name into a hiss of pain.

"Stop it," Blair said, sharply. "I've got the other two million."

And then Chuck realised that she was clutching another case; Fabiano was already moving to take it from her.

It was clear he didn't believe for a second that the money would be in the bag. His eyes were narrowed as he counted it out, slowly.

Chuck had no idea how or even why she was here – but she needed to get out, because there was no way she had another two million and in a moment Fabiano was going to realise -

"What do you know," the man muttered. "Looks like the girl came through." He gave her an ugly smile. "Good thing you got here when you did, doll." His eyes flickered to Chuck. "Saved by your woman." The expression on his face was unreadable – but his thugs looked distinctly annoyed that they'd had their beating cut short. They were still clutching their guns.

Fabiano's lip curled. "All right, boys. Get them out of my club."

One of them had already grabbed Chuck's arm – he wrenched himself free as he saw the other one reach for Blair, ignoring the throb in his gut.

"We can see ourselves out," he snarled.

"Don't let me see you in here again."

Fabiano's voice was cool as the door slammed behind them.

The air was icy, burning his already raw throat and making breathing even harder.

But the only thing he was aware of, now, was the girl in front of him. For a moment, he found he couldn't speak.

"How did you-"

"I overheard Fabiano when he first came to you," she snapped. Her voice was still a little shaky as she folded her arms. "What were you thinking?" she demanded. "If you'd just told me about this from the beginning – and stopped telling me you didn't need my _help_ - then I could've got you out of this mess a lot sooner."

She'd known? The whole time? He paused and tried to form a coherent thought as his eyes scanned her face. Tried to fight the sudden feeling rising in his chest. She'd -

"How did you find me?"

When what he really meant was – _why _had she found him?

"Carter came looking for you," she muttered. "He found out you'd drained the trust fund and thought you'd skipped town."

Of course he had. But Chuck realised she hadn't actually answered his question. Why hadn't she jumped to the same conclusion? Had she somehow intercepted the message for Fabiano?

He was still staring at her. "How did you know I hadn't?"

She paused. She hugged her arms tighter, and her brown eyes skimmed the ground for a second. "I didn't," she admitted at last. He searched her face still because he still didn't understand. "Luckily, you and Fabiano are predictable. If you'd picked a random bridge or street corner to meet..."

"But you didn't know I'd meet him at all."

She could see the confusion in those dark eyes as she swallowed. (How could he be so perceptive about everything else and so _slow _about this?)

"I...didn't want," - couldn't bear - "The risk of your body turning up a week later in the Hudson." She could hear that his breathing was still a little ragged from where he'd been hit; she could still _hear _his growl of pain and that sickening thump as the fist had struck his abdomen. She cleared her throat. "I would've...felt bad. Besides," she added, "It was obvious yesterday that you weren't in your right mind. Running away would have been the rational thing to do – not turning up with half the money. I knew you weren't thinking clearly."

Chuck looked at her. "I was thinking clearly." His voice was still hoarse from the punches – couldn't she see that he _had _been thinking clearly? Fabiano would have gone straight for her if he'd run away.

She finally raised her eyes to his. He saw the doubt, the confusion; and something strange, underneath it all. She understood what he was saying, even if she couldn't quite believe it.

But he still couldn't believe that she'd come for him. (Why? Why would she do that for _him_?)

"Where did you get the money from?" he asked instead.

She exhaled. "I guess my father finally got lucky in a game."

His gaze snapped up to hers – he felt sick as he looked in her eyes and realised she knew. She knew.

He was silent. "Blair," he started. But what could he possibly say? He couldn't lie and tell her he'd tried to stop it; what difference did it make how ill it had made him feel? They both knew it was what you did – not what you _felt_ – that counted.

He looked at her pale face, white above the darkness of her coat, and the rings under her eyes that the low streetlight didn't entirely disguise.

"I'm sorry."

She just shook her head. "I should have known anyway," she murmured. "You can't rely on other people - they always let you down."

Her voice sounded odd; he looked at her again and went cold as he realised she wasn't even talking about him. He did always let people down – but she was talking about her father.

Her father had let her down.

And the fact that _Harold_, of all people, was the only person in her life who'd never done that until now was suddenly making it difficult for him to swallow.

Chuck had never been let down by Bart. He'd never expected anything from him in the first place.

You couldn't rely on other people.

He wanted to agree with her. But she was _here_. She'd shown up tonight with the knowledge of exactly what he'd done. She'd shown up without even knowing, for sure, that he'd be there. And still she was standing here, on a freezing street in the middle of the night, with him.

"Not always."

She stared at him.

_I was thinking clearly. _

"Look," he murmured. "What I said last night-"

"It's ok," she cut him off quickly. "I don't need your help any more, do I?"

There was an odd expression in his eyes, like that hadn't been what he'd been about to say at all. She paused. But then what -

He cleared his throat. "I meant...about the annulment. I don't want you to be trapped in this marriage."

Had that really been what he meant?

"Right," she forced a smile. "And you don't want to be stuck playing the doting husband."

Was she imagining his slight flinch?

"I just want you to be happy." His voice was suddenly very tight; she stilled. "Whatever you want," he said, softly.

And as she stared at him and realised that he_ meant_ it, she was suddenly drained as she realised something far worse.

She didn't _know_ what she wanted any more.

She'd wanted to destroy Chuck Bass. She'd wanted to save her father.

She hadn't been able to do either – she no longer _wanted_ to do either – and she didn't understand how it had all got so messed up.

"I..." She suddenly looked hopelessly young. "I want to go home."

Chuck gazed down at her and battled the urge to tell her she should go home with _him. _Because the thought of Harold being the only thing waiting for her in her penthouse -

But he'd told her he'd give her whatever she wanted.

"Ok."

He had Arthur pull the car around; she was silent as she climbed in. The streets were quiet, her gaze on the darkness outside and her hands in her lap. As ever.

The car drew to a stop outside her building.

It was all dark, but he could see a single light on in the penthouse. Harold was home. She saw it too. And he stopped himself from – what? Stopping her?

Her fingers closed around the handle of the car door.

And she paused as the cold air hit her face.

"Blair?"

She couldn't do it. She couldn't face the thought of seeing her father. She was aware of Chuck waiting for her to get out – and she couldn't.

That wasn't her home.

And Chuck's hand was suddenly covering her wrist, pulling her away from the door; she stared up at him.

He was still holding her. "Do you want to go up there?" His face was seconds from hers where she'd turned – he paused as though sensing her discomfort.

"I-"

Those black eyes were still studying her.

"Of course," she managed, when what she really meant was _I don't have anywhere else to go._

He reached for the car door.

And he pulled it shut.

She stared at him, again, as they drove away.

"The guest room still has some of your things in it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Too much angst? :s Thank you so much for your reviews!**


	21. Chapter 21

The first thing Blair noticed when she woke up was that she wasn't in her own bed. Then she realised she wasn't in a bed at all.

She sat up, sharply, on the sofa – and the blanket that had been covering her slipped off her shoulders. Jesus, she was still in yesterday's clothes.

Yesterday.

She gazed round Chuck's living room, wincing as she noticed the cluster of glasses on the bar – that would explain her headache.

Then she yelped as she realised Chuck was, in fact, sitting in the armchair opposite her. In a dressing gown.

He glanced up from his newspaper.

"Morning, sunshine."

She hastily covered herself with the blanket again (forgetting that she was the one who was fully dressed while Chuck decidedly...wasn't) and sat up even straighter.

"What are you doing here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean, in my suite?"

"No," she snapped. "I mean in the same room as me. While I was _asleep_." Why did the idea of Chuck seeing her sleep make her feel so...strange? (Because it was creepy, she told herself. Of course. This was _Chuck_. Who knew what he did to vulnerable girls-)

Chuck sighed and returned to his newspaper. "You're the one who crashed out on the sofa. I was actually trying to get you into the guest room, remember?"

"No."

(Actually, she did remember curling up on some very soft cushions; but she was sure she hadn't had a blanket).

"You asked me to carry you at one point."

"I did not!"

She prayed to God that she hadn't.

He smirked, faintly.

She glared at him. "This is all your fault." Her gaze fell on the glasses again. "Just how many of those lethal concoctions did you make me last night? And what is you obsession with getting girls drunk?"

"Trust me," he said drily, "You managed quite well without my help last night. You were the one saying you wanted to get drunk. And," he glanced at the glasses too, "You were the only one making lethal concoctions." He gave them a nod. "Those are all your attempts at cocktail making. I have to admit," he mused, "You've got quite a flair."

So perhaps she did have a vague memory of taking over his bar last night.

But it was still his fault, she remembered. If he hadn't confused her quite so much in the car with the inviting her back to his suite – if she hadn't seen him wince, in fact, as he'd climbed out of the car – then she wouldn't have suggested the drink in the first place.

She shot him another glower. "Can you at least put some clothes on?"

"I'm hardly naked," Chuck sighed.

He _was_ naked. Under the robe. And why was she even thinking about that? This was why he should be wearing proper clothes. Clothes that wouldn't come off with one tug of a cord, and didn't show her the hair on his chest that made her wonder just how far under the robe it disappeared -

"What's that?"

She suddenly leaned forward, sharp, as she noticed the faint shadows on his exposed chest. Not shadows – bruises. Impossibly faint bruises.

"What?" he frowned.

He was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was staring at his body; he doubted she meant it to be as arousing as it was. Christ.

"I didn't realise they'd hit you that high," she frowned. The bruises looked very small - but she'd heard how hard they'd hit him, and bruising on his chest could mean broken ribs -

Chuck, however, had glanced down at the bruises too; and now his mouth twitched a little. "That wasn't Fabiano's men." Blair's frown deepened and he tilted his head. "That was you."

"What?"

She stared in disbelief. He had to be lying.

"Well...You didn't just fall asleep on the sofa. You fell asleep on my lap."

Blair froze in absolute horror. It hadn't been very soft cushions that she'd curled up on at all. It had been...Chuck's thighs. She distinctly remembered, now, telling herself that she really needed to move before she'd drifted off. (Except she also remembered thinking that the heat of his legs under her cheek was far nicer than any cushion).

"You – took advantage of me," she said furiously.

On his _lap. _

He rolled his eyes. "That's what you said after you woke up when I tried to move." (He decided not to tell her that he'd had to move because of...where her head had ended up). "Before you started hitting me." He raised an eyebrow at her again; she glanced at the bruises on his chest and tried not to flush. "You were really quite...aggressive. I had no idea you were so-"

"I'm going to take a bath," she cut him right off, outraged, and leapt to her feet. "And _you _are never going to speak of this again." She gave him a vindictive look. "Or next time I'll hit lower down."

He was still smirking as she stalked away to the bathroom.

* * *

><p>By the time Blair emerged from the bathroom, hair washed and skin scrubbed, Chuck was – mercifully – in one of his usual suits. Though she did catch herself wishing that he was wearing a jacket. She realised she'd never actually seen him at home during the day – and not in a shirt and suspenders. Or tilted back in his chair, hair for once not slicked back and the crisp shirt just a little too...thin, against his chest.<p>

She dragged her eyes away, irritated, from the lock of dark hair that had fallen against the pale skin of his forehead. What was wrong with her this morning?

Why was seeing Chuck lounge against the breakfast table putting her all out of sorts?

His golden eyes perused her figure lazily as she took the seat opposite him.

"I'm shocked," he murmured as his gaze grazed her collar bone. There was no high collar there. "That dress is positively...indecent. Is there a reason I'm getting such a treat for breakfast?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, you moron. I didn't leave 'some things' in the guest room – I left one dress. An _under _dress."

Only Blair, he reflected, would have an under dress that could be mistaken for an actual dress.

Still, he smirked. "So you can take issue with my dressing gown, but it's perfectly acceptable for you to prance around in your underwear?"

He decided he'd really grown quite fond of that glare.

"You disgust me," she informed him as she helped herself to a strawberry. She did not _prance._ Then she noticed that he was tracking the fruit's progress to her lips and stopped, giving him a deadly look.

He was tempted to tell her that it really didn't make what she was doing any less provocative.

The truth was, he was winding her up deliberately. Like if he could be smarmy enough it would cover up the confused lump in his chest whenever he thought about what she'd done last night.

Like if he teased her enough about her – admittedly hilarious – drunken antics, then he could stop thinking about the sound of her voice in Victrola, her face as she'd gazed up at her penthouse and the warm weight of her head against his legs.

Like if he leered at her enough it would cancel out that moment last night. After she'd fallen asleep for the second time, when he'd covered her with a blanket and had found himself pausing as his hand brushed those dark curls, and it had suddenly been impossible to breathe and he hadn't been able to blame it on his sore abdomen -

"I need you to stop being a pervert long enough to focus on the task at hand," she snapped at him now. "Last night may be a little...hazy, but I do remember what we talked about." Or, the important and non-humiliating parts of what they'd talked about. "You agreed we were going to take down Fabiano."

Chuck paused, and they glanced at each other.

He had agreed. She'd been drunk. He knew Blair never made plans – especially ones for revenge – that she didn't intend to carry through; but still. This was _Fabiano. _

Not a socialite or a low-life that needed sorting.

If they took him on -

"Did you mean it?" she pressed.

He watched her. He had meant it. But he wasn't sure he wanted _her _to face a risk that big unless she did too. Unless she was sure she did.

"Did you?"

His shirt was white and she could just make out the darker shading of his skin on his torso; and despite his nonchalant position on the chair, she caught his faint intake of breath every time he shifted.

And she could still picture his expression every time he looked at Victrola.

Her gaze slanted. "I meant it."

He tried to ignore the way his heart raced at that light in her eyes (at the fact that she was on his side). He smirked instead. Hard.

"Then let's get the bastard."

* * *

><p>"So it's not just me being crazy?"<p>

Two blond heads were bent together, completely ignoring the auction going on at the podium ahead of them. Neither were all that enthusiastic about antique art; they'd been more tempted by the stupendous banquet afterwards. Sadly, the auction part seemed to be going on forever.

"No," Serena whispered back. "She really is...different, lately."

They were both watching the brunette two rows ahead.

"But good different," Nate added. "I don't know. I mean she's...lighter. Happier."

Blair was smiling at the moment, eyes narrowed and face animated with competition as she waved her paddle. Events like this always did get her blood going.

"She's glowing," Serena smiled fondly. And she had a feeling she knew why. Blair was always excited by competition. She was usually far too competitive to spend time smirking at the person next to her. Serena knew from personal experience – you did not distract Blair at something like an auction. But apparently that rule didn't extend to the dark-haired man who currently had her hand in his. "They're so sweet," Serena sighed.

Georgina, listening from the row behind, rolled her eyes in disgust. But she was also watching Chuck and Blair between narrowed eyes.

_Glowing. _

Ugh.

* * *

><p>Blair's hand was currently inching up the inside seam of Chuck's trousers.<p>

"Give it up," Chuck muttered back, struggling to focus. "You're not going to win this one."

Blair smiled and raised her paddle again. Her fingers brushed the highest part of Chuck's thigh – and just as they reached the bulge, his own hand clamped down on hers.

"Don't you dare." He grit his teeth as her smile widened.

She leaned her head into his, lips brushing his ear while her eyes never left the figure on the podium.

She _was _going to win this one.

"Chuck," she purred as her hair tickled his cheek and its scent assaulted his senses. "I really didn't think you'd be complaining about something like this."

"Is that five hundred thousand?"

Chuck just about managed to raise his paddle with Blair's. Of course, neither of them could afford to be splashing out half a million on a painting.

But the game was chicken.

Serena had dragged Blair to the auction (_you and Chuck are always busy nowadays; we never go out!_) and, since they knew they couldn't actually outbid anyone in the room, they'd needed something to keep them entertained.

"Can I get fifty five thousand dollars?"

Blair had already spotted the old dear at the back who was clearly desperate for the painting – she wasn't worried. The trick now was to stop Chuck noticing the same woman.

He went to turn his head, slightly; and Blair squeezed.

Next moment a string of curse words were being hissed into her ear.

She grinned.

"Sixty thousand dollars?"

* * *

><p>The auction had not been as enjoyable for everyone.<p>

"Finally," Georgie groaned as she dragged Blair into the cloakroom. Finally – she'd got her away from Chuck. The man was impossible to shake. "Jesus. I was about ready to die of boredom. Next time, please don't leave me to chaperone blonde and blonder."

Blair rolled her eyes.

(But Georgie had noticed the faint flush in her cheeks and the light in her eye. _Glowing_).

"Can you explain to me now what all that stuff with Fabiano was?"

Blair raised an eyebrow at her; Georgina gave the other girl an impatient nudge.

"Come on. All that stuff about selling Chuck out? When you practically attacked me?" Her expression lit up a little. "I mean, is he in trouble now?"

"No," Blair said. Her eyes had a gleam to them as she smiled, grimly. "But Fabiano will be soon."

(Damnit. Chuck Bass was like a cockroach). Georgie frowned."What are you talking about?" Oh - no. She recognised that gleam. "No. Do _not _tell me Chuck is making you go along with some crazy vendetta against Fabiano."

Usually, Georgie was all for vendettas – but not when they consisted of Chuck and Blair. On the same side.

"He's not making me do anything," Blair retorted easily. "Fabiano needs to be destroyed."

Georgina couldn't believe it had all backfired on her quite so spectacularly. _This_ wasn't supposed to be happening. "Chuck is the one with a problem with Fabiano," she said between ground teeth. "_His _problem – not yours."

Chuck and Blair, on the same side.

"Fabiano made it my problem the second he decided to threaten me," Blair corrected her.

(Even though that wasn't why she'd showed up with the money and it didn't quite explain the feeling she'd got when she'd seen Chuck almost on the floor).

Georgie had gone even stiller. "He...what?" Blair glanced at her; she gave herself a little shake and realised it was probably best to change the subject. Fast. "There's something I don't understand, B." Her tone was suddenly cool. "What happened to destroying Chuck? Because I'd say all the giggling and hand-holding are sort of sending the opposite message."

Blair's smile disappeared, just like that.

"Drop it."

Georgie's lip twisted. "_Drop it. _That's all you ever do, Blair. Serena steals your fiance – but it's ok, we'll _drop it _because her brother died. Chuck humiliates you and tricks you into marrying him – but it's ok, we'll _drop it _because now you want to sleep with him." She stared at the other girl. "When did you become so pathetic?"

The flush had gone now too. Blair was white, her lips pinched.

"Look," Georgie sighed. "I'm sorry. That was harsh. But sometimes I feel like I don't understand you any more." She shook her head. "You're Blair Waldorf. You never used to let anyone walk all over you-"

"No one's _walking all over me_," Blair spat.

"So playing Chuck's happy little wife, helping him with all his schemes? What's that?"

Blair was suddenly very, very cold. "None of your business, _Georgie_."

She was turning away now. Shit. Georgina had gone too far. She repressed a snarl of irritation - fucking Chuck Bass.

"Wait," Georgie sighed. "B. Look, I just want to understand." It was a real struggle to get the next words out, but she knew they needed to be said. "Do you care about him now? Is that what it is? Have you fallen for him?"

She wasn't sure what would be worse – if Blair said she did, or if she denied it. Because if she'd reached denial then she was in way, way over her head.

"No," Blair said vehemently. Far too quickly. "Of course not."

Great. She was _screwed. _

Georgie tried a smile. "Ok. I just wanted to check. Because Chuck is bad news, remember? Him and Carter-"

"He's nothing like Carter."

Georgie stared at her in silence. That had always been her one fall-back; linking Carter and Chuck together. If Blair wasn't even doing that now -

"And why is that?" she asked very softly.

The other's girls lips tightened. "He's just not."

Georgie watched her a moment longer. "Do you really know that, B? Do you even really know him?"

"I know him."

There was a quiet calm in Blair's eyes.

Fine.

Georgie didn't want to say what she said next. "Ok," she breathed. She had to get Blair to see. "But does he really know you?" Her blue eyes were unforgiving. "Does he know everything about you, Blair?"

Blair was silent.

"I just don't want you to get your heart broken. I'll always look out for you – you know that." Her voice was gentle. "The best way to stop him hurting you is to hurt him first. You _know _that."

There was suddenly an icy light in Blair's eyes. "If you do _anything _to hurt him, Georgie, I will destroy you."

Georgina held up her hands. "Look, I won't. Ok? If you don't want me to-"

"I don't."

"Ok," Georgie murmured. "Jeez, B. No need to go all psycho on me. I won't."

Blair stared at her for a moment longer. "Good."

Georgie watched her leave. She needed a plan. And she needed a brilliant one.

* * *

><p>They said bad things came in threes.<p>

So with any luck, Carter thought with a groan, this was the last time he'd see Georgina Sparks in his club. She smiled at him as she dropped into the bar stool at his side.

"Let me save you some time," Carter sighed. "They're married, and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Georgie rolled her eyes. Carter had already flagged down a drink for her, lest she had any ideas about stealing his. She stole his anyway. "I'm not here about that." She moved onto the drink he'd ordered for her. "I'm here to propose a deal, actually."

"Why," Carter drawled, "Should I even pretend to be interested?"

She smirked at him and sucked the cherry from her drink, slipping it between red lips. "Because it's to do with Fabiano."

Well, that got his attention. Carter's eyes narrowed instantly. "I don't even want to know how you know about him."

"Good." Georgie set her glass down on the bar. "Because I probably know more than you do." She waved for another drink as she reapplied her lipstick, tilting her head at Carter.

"Like what?" He made no attempt to hide his sneer.

"Like Chuck and Blair are trying to take him down."

Carter did pause, at that. He'd suspected as much. He still didn't know exactly what had happened that night Chuck went missing. But the other mand had turned up in Gimlet the next day to tell him Fabiano had come back early and he'd been paid. But Chuck was a fool if he thought Carter hadn't noticed that he'd obviously taken a beating – even if he'd managed to hide it from everyone else – and that he was now up to something.

Carter bet its reasoning had something to do with Blair.

"Well," he snorted. "That's their suicide mission."

(Great. Now he'd have to waste more time trying to talk Chuck out of this).

"Yours too," Georgina pointed out idly. "If Fabiano finds out, you can kiss your little business goodbye."

Carter scowled at her.

"I'm surprised, actually," she mused. "That you don't want revenge on the guy yourself. Seeing as he's the one Chuck double-crossed you with. Well...maybe not that surprised. You always were spineless."

Carter just snorted, unaffected. "And you're insane. Which is why you'll go too far and end up with a bullet in your head. Sooner rather than later, I hope."

Georgie smiled as she raised the next glass to her lips. "You say the sweetest things, Baizen."

"Can you leave now?"

"No," she said pleasantly. "Not till you agree to help me."

Carter let out a sigh. "My doormen are getting very bored of throwing you out, Sparks."

"Chuck and Blair can't take Fabiano down by themselves. They need our help."

The man looked at her like she was crazy. "The best thing _we_ can do to help is to stop this before it goes any further."

"Have fun trying," Georgie shot back, dry. "You know how easily they let things go." About as easily as she did. As Carter did.

"Why?" Baizen groaned. "Why do you always try to ruin my nights? Don't you have a life of your own?"

She grinned nastily at him. "Don't worry, precious. As soon as you help me with this, I'll let you get back to lonely booze-filled nights wishing Chuck wasn't at home with his wife."

"Careful," Carter warned as he spared her drink a contemptuous glance. "That's your fourth in as many minutes. Better get the mints ready for your pathetic little date tonight."

Georgie was quite serene. "I cleared my schedule, actually. Just for you. So I'm not going anywhere till you get that brain in action and figure out this is the best plan for all of us."

Carter finally looked at her. "What exactly is in this for you?"

"It's revenge." Georgie's eyes hardened suddenly. "What's not to love?"

Carter regarded her from the side. Ah. So that was it. "Fabiano tried to do something to Blair." That explained why Chuck wanted revenge so much.

Despite what he'd told Georgie, Carter had harboured a soft hatred for Fabiano for a long time now. Not just because Chuck had gone to him behind his back – but because the man was too big for his boots. Carter didn't like being threatened. Carter didn't like his business or his best friend being threatened either.

"Are you in?" Georgie pressed. "Or not?"

Carter pursed his lips.

"I suppose taking him down could be...satisfying."

She smirked. "Excellent. We'll meet tomorrow." She downed the last drop from her glass before sliding off the bar stool; and then Carter suddenly caught her arm.

It was a casual grip.

"And Sparks? If I catch even the faintest whiff of betrayal from you – you're going to wish you'd never been born."

Georgina just smiled, coldly, and slipped free.

"Terrified. I'm sure."

* * *

><p>Blair had a nightmare that night.<p>

She dreamt that she was trying to get to Victrola again. Chuck was there, and she had to get to him to stop whatever was about to happen. She knew that if she didn't, those punches would start again.

But it was raining and she couldn't find her way, and every time she tried to call out his name thunder drowned her out. Her old fear of thunderstorms, back to haunt her.

And somehow she was simultaneously trying to find him and watching him, in the room, getting beaten up. The only sound she could hear over the thunder was his noises of pain.

When she finally grabbed one of the attackers to try and stop them, she was met with a pair of blue eyes.

"But this is what you wanted, Blair. This is what you always wanted."

And the last thing she saw before she woke up shaking, heart pounding like crazy, was Chuck's lifeless face, contorted in pain; his blood on the floor mixing with the rain, and the knowledge that it was all her fault.

* * *

><p>Chuck had just got into bed and switched off the light when he thought he heard a knock at the door.<p>

This was exactly why he'd been staying up so late recently. Because otherwise he just lay in bed and thought about the room just down the hall from his – and Jesus, now he was so desperate that he was _hearing _things.

"Chuck?"

But the handle was turning now. And this wasn't a dream this time.

Blair was standing at his doorway.

Her hair was loose, her feet bare; she was wearing a little white slip and in other words was everything he'd spent the past several nights fantasizing about.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

And now she was moving, cautiously, towards his bed. He sat up before she could come any closer. (Otherwise he'd have known he really was dreaming).

"What is it?"

She paused.

And he realised then that there was an odd expression on her face.

"I...nothing." She'd stopped approaching his bed. "I just had an idea, and I saw your light was on..."

An idea?

Under any other circumstances, a girl having an idea at night, in bed, and then coming into his room -

But he could still see that look in her eyes. Something was wrong.

(Definitely not a sexy idea).

"About what?"

"Nothing important." She hesitated and he knew then that she was about to lie. "Just...Fabiano. I thought if you were awake we could do some more plotting. But it's fine." She shook her head. "It can wait till morning."

She was already turning to go.

"Blair."

He studied her.

"What was the idea?"

She was still standing there in her slip and it was driving him crazy all of a sudden.

"You know, I don't bite-"

"Please don't say unless you want me to. I don't want more nightmares."

His mouth quirked, faintly (though he'd noticed the _more nightmares_); he rolled his eyes and nodded at the bed.

"I'll even stay on my side."

She glanced at the vast expanse of mattress. And then, slowly, she lowered herself onto the edge of it.

He tried to ignore her slender white legs as she curled them under her – she saw him look anyway, and narrowed her eyes. But for once she didn't say anything.

"So what were you thinking about Fabiano?"

"Just the champagne idea." She sighed. "Delivering crates to Victrola in broad daylight. It's amateur."

She was a good liar. He'd give her that. Still, he thought about it before he nodded. "I guess it is."

"And the underage girls," she added. "That won't work either."

"It's a little hard to prove," he reflected in agreement. Reluctantly, though – that one would have been fun. "And now that I think about it, the narcotics could blow up in our faces too."

She gave a little nod.

"So I guess we need to think harder," he murmured. It was ridiculous that she was on the other side of the bed and he could feel the mattress dip where she sat.

Blair was silent for a moment.

"What if...we can't think of anything?"

Chuck frowned. "Well, we knew it wasn't going to be easy. We just need to keep trying." He glanced at her. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet?" he teased lightly.

Her feet were currently tucked under her bare legs. For God's sake.

Then he realised she hadn't answered him.

"What?" He cocked his head at her, searching her eyes. "Do you not want to do this any more?"

"I do," she muttered. "I mean, I want revenge. It's just," her voice faltered for a second. "It's dangerous."

He watched her in silence.

"It is," he said at last. "Blair. I don't...want you to put yourself at risk. If you don't want to." Because if anything happened to her - "I understand," he murmured, softly.

No, he didn't.

He didn't have nightmares about his screams of pain and blood on the floor. He hadn't seen the look on his face when -

"I mean it's dangerous for _you._" The words came out fast.

Chuck stared at her for a moment, brow furrowed like he didn't quite understand.

"I think we should stop," she said, very quiet. "Both of us."

He was still staring. "Just give up?"

_Drop it. _

_When did you become so pathetic? _

Was it the nightmare she'd had, he wondered? Was that why she looked so pale now?

"Blair?"

She wasn't looking at him; and he couldn't take it any more. He suddenly leaned forwards and caught her chin, tilting her face up to his. She was perfectly still in the dim light of his room.

"Whatever your nightmare was...it's not real." He gazed down into her eyes as his thumb grazed the soft skin of her jaw. "It's not real," he muttered.

She shook her head.

And then her hand was on his chest; suddenly slipping down to the hard plane of his stomach through his silk pyjamas – and, as she'd known he would, he flinched. Just for a second.

"What?" Her hand slipped against the gap in his pyjama top, and then her fingers were brushing his hot bruised skin. "Like this isn't real?"

He caught her wrist, and her fingers curled.

The bruises didn't make her want vengeance now. They just made her afraid.

"Please." Her voice nearly broke. "Please can we stop?"

He looked down at the fear in her eyes – it was her nightmare, he knew, that was making her so irrational.

"Ok," he said at last. "We'll stop."

* * *

><p>They were having breakfast when the elevator pinged.<p>

And the two people that walked in might not have been that unusual by themselves – but together, they were enough to make both Chuck and Blair stare in disbelief.

Neither Carter nor Georgie bothered with pleasantries.

They dropped straight down into the other two seats at the table, and Carter helped himself to a croissant while Georgie grabbed the tea.

"Right," Georgie announced. "You can stop floundering around now. We're going to help."

Chuck and Blair exchanged a glance. _We? _As in – Georgie and Carter? They were a _we _now?

"We know about your little plan for Fabiano," Carter sighed. "So...we're in. And you're welcome." He didn't miss that both of them had gone very still. Georgie's eyes narrowed, a little.

"We're not going against Fabiano."

"Ok," Carter said, impatiently. "Let's not waste time denying. I told you we _know. _And we're going to help you destroy him."

"No," Chuck snapped. "We're not doing it any more." He was very aware of Blair at his side.

This time it was Carter and Georgie's turn to exchange a glance.

"Sorry...what?"

"You're just going to let him get away with what he did?" Carter demanded. "Are you serious?"

"It's too dangerous."

Georgie scoffed. "The only person it's going to be dangerous for is Fabiano."

And for once, Carter agreed with her. "Against us? He doesn't stand a chance." He reached for another croissant. "Anyway, this isn't up for discussion. We're going to annihilate him."

Georgie sipped her tea. "With or without your help."

* * *

><p><strong>AN – So...this chapter really was meant to be a light one. It started out that way, promise! The angst just sort of crept in? But I'm not going to lie, I love the idea of a C/G/C/B alliance. It's not quite the NJBC but I still think the show should go there. I know, they never will. They don't even have Carter/Georgina interaction - and Georgie's pretty ridiculous now anyway. (I'll try not to be too negative and say her OTT antics, convoluted plot lines and two-dimensional appearance are like a metaphor for the show in general now). Anyway. I hope you enjoyed the chapter – thanks so much for continuing to review :)**


	22. Chapter 22

It was the early hours of the morning and even Gimlet had been emptied.

Except for the back room, where one light still burned. Onto three heads gathered round a table deep in discussion. Or rather, debate.

"What could she possibly have that's so good it requires a four o'clock rendez-vous?"

"Trust me," Carter drawled. "It's good. The unsociable hour is just to annoy us."

"After what I just went through," the door swept open and Georgina appeared, "I deserve_ some_ fun." She dropped into the chair next to Blair and started unbuttoning her coat.

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "Well?"

But Georgie was pulling out her lipstick now, carefully reapplying it as she checked her appearance in a compact mirror. "Ugh. I smell of Queens_._"

Blair edged back slightly, nose wrinkling. "_Queens_?" Chuck looked similarly repulsed; Carter just smirked.

"Turns out after the first few dates, Franky boy gets cheap." Georgie pulled a face. "It was a seedy hotel or nothing." She paused long enough to aim her next words at Chuck. "I was going for the Palace, personally..."

"You're meant to be lying low," Carter interrupted, eyes narrowing. "I hope nobody saw you with him."

She threw him a look. "Do I look like an amateur? Don't worry, we spent the whole time in the bedroom anyway."

Carter rolled his eyes at the relish in her voice. "I'm sure it was the best date you've had in a while."

"Can we focus?" Blair snapped before Georgie could retort. She ignored Carter. "What did you get?"

"Let's just say I may have found out the real reason Fabiano turned up in New York when he did. Or more importantly – why he left Chicago." Georgie stretched back in her chair. "You wanted to destroy him?" Her grin widened. "Well if what Frank let slip is true, then we barely need to lift a finger." The four of them glanced at each other; Georgie sighed, content. "He's about to be in _a lot _of trouble."

* * *

><p>The broiled lobster at the Waldorf Astoria was one of Paolo Fabiano's favourites. He liked the restaurant best on a late Sunday morning, all the Upper East Side families sitting down to brunch. Fabiano was Sicilian - family was important. He nodded his head at the kid on the opposite table and she smiled back, staring wide-eyed at his hat. She reminded him of his little girl in Chicago.<p>

"Ain't she sweet?" his mistress burbled from his other side.

Fabiano nodded, idle.

Life was sweet. He'd have finished up his business and be heading back to Chicago by the end of the week, and he was looking forward to it.

He was busy cracking open another lobster claw when the men entered the restaurant and stopped at his table.

He glanced up at them.

Cops.

People were giving them surreptitious looks now, peering round from behind their menus.

"Can I help you?" He smiled lazily. It was a natural reaction to get shifty when the police turned up, but he knew he was covered. No one had been able to touch him for a long time. Hell, he'd been blackmailing one of the officers now standing before him for nearly three years.

"Paolo Fabiano?"

Like it was even a question. Everyone knew who he was.

"We're arresting you on suspicion of involvement with the murders of Peter Gusenberg, Frank Gusenberg, Albert Kachellek, Adam Heyer, Reinhart Schwimmer..."

Fabiano paled as the names were read off. This couldn't be happening.

The little girl on the table opposite was now being pulled into her mother's arms as the woman pretended to look away. But the truth was that they were all looking now.

"Under what authority?" Fabiano snarled.

It was the cop who he'd been blackmailing that spoke up. His expression was neutral, official – but Fabiano could see the satisfaction in his eyes. "You're going to have to come with us, Mr. Fabiano." And it was the same cop that slid the handcuffs onto his wrists and escorted him out of the restaurant.

Conversation resumed at a frenzy once he'd gone, women feigning appalled looks and shielding their children's eyes as they leaned eagerly in to gossip.

At at table in the corner, four people set their menus down. Two young women and two men that had watched the whole thing.

Georgie's smirk was wide as she spiked their orange juices.

"A toast," Carter announced softly. "To...Valentine's day."

Chuck and Blair exchanged a glance before they raised their own glasses. "To Valentine's Day."

And they all drank.

* * *

><p>On March 16th, 1929, Paolo Fabiano was sentenced to life in prison for conspiring and participating in the deaths of seven men on Valentine's Day.<p>

As the judge banged his gavel to dismiss the court, a couple got to their feet. The girl was demurely dressed, dark curls pulled back and a coat as blue as her eyes; the man's suit was easily the sharpest in the room.

"You realise, Sparks, that you're not meant to be grinning when they read the sentence?" The man's voice was low and irritated as they filed out of the courtroom.

"What?" The girl sounded perfectly innocent. "I was just happy to see justice served. For the poor families of those victims."

Carter rolled his eyes.

But there was a gleam of satisfaction in his gaze too.

And as they walked past the mobster, who was being led away in handcuffs, they both gave him nasty grins.

"Justice indeed."

* * *

><p>Fabiano had spent the night in a detention complex in Manhattan. The morning dawned grey and cloudy – not that he could see that from his cell. He was due to be moved to Alcatraz in the afternoon.<p>

But he'd been told that he had a visitor now. Not his family, who were lying low in Chicago; and none of his men, who had wisely scarpered.

He was led into the visiting room to find Chuck Bass waiting for him.

"Fabiano." The man's smile was cool as he glanced him over. "Stripes suit you."

Fabiano's usually tanned skin was decidedly grey, his eyes flat as ever. He regarded Chuck. "What are you doing here?"

Chuck paused. "Well, I actually wanted to thank you. People are so shocked by your arrest that a lot have gone into hiding. So when all your property was seized, there weren't many scavengers to fight off." He cocked his head as he regarded the criminal. "I managed to salvage one of your joints for next to nothing – can you guess which one?"

Fabiano's lip curled. "Congratulations. You can look after it for me till my friend picks it up."

"Friend?" Chuck enquired. "What friend, exactly? Last I heard, no one wants to go near you. Murder's got everyone running scared."

No one wanted to be implicated in _that. _

Fabiano flexed his manacled hands on the table, eyes slanting. "You're lucky, Chuck-"

"Lucky?" Chuck raised a brow. "No. No – you see, luck has nothing to do with it."

He saw Fabiano still, saw the veins suddenly tighten in his neck as he realised. "You," he hissed. "You _ratted me out_."

"No," Chuck shrugged. "That was Frank. Turns out discretion between the sheets isn't his strong point. Don't worry," he added, "He's in Mexico now. I doubt you'll be seeing him again."

Fabiano's face contorted with loathing as his hands clenched. "You're going to pay for this."

Chuck looked at him evenly. "Not because of you. No one's going to help you, Fabiano. No one wants to do anything for a convicted murderer."

Rumour had it Al Capone himself had turned his back on him – for getting caught, of course.

Chuck climbed to his feet and readjusted his hat. "You'll have to excuse me. I've got a wedding to go to." He paused. "You know, I wish I could invite you to Victrola's opening night. I doubt the Rock has many parties." He smiled, and it didn't reach his eyes as he gave the man a final glance. "It's a shame you're going to be away for so long."

* * *

><p>Blair was waiting in the car outside. She wouldn't be caught dead stepping foot inside a prison, even if it was to see Fabiano.<p>

Chuck slid onto the seat next to her; she gazed at him. There was the hard gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Is it over?"

He gave her a look back. "It's over."

They wouldn't be seeing Fabiano again.

She sighed, quietly, as she laid her head back on the seats. She felt him do the same next to her, and they exchanged a slight smile as the car pulled away.

* * *

><p>Considering the thunder clouds that loomed overhead, the church was nowhere near as cold as St. Patricks had been on the day of Blair's wedding. Or at least it felt that way as she helped Serena adjust her veil.<p>

The blonde looked gorgeous, of course – her white dress far shorter than Blair's had been, golden hair tumbling over her shoulders and skin glowing with happiness.

"Wow," she breathed, peeking round the door. "I can't believe this is actually happening."

Blair yanked her away - "Nate's not meant to see you yet, S – no one is!"

Serena just grinned. "I saw him this morning." And, before Blair could explode about just how much bad luck she'd incurred; "I snuck round his last night – I was nervous, B." She paused. "I really didn't think I'd make it to this day."

Blair softened. Just marginally. "Well, I did." Serena and Nate loved each other too much to let anything get in their way. No matter how huge the obstacle.

Those blue eyes were glistening now. "I wish..."

"I know." Blair hugged her. "So do I."

Eric was the only thing missing.

"He'd be happy for you," Blair murmured, squeezing her best friend's hands; Serena nodded.

"Come on." The organ music had started to play (typically, Serena had gone for a tune that she liked rather than the traditional wedding march) - "This is the one day you're not allowed to be late, S."

* * *

><p>Nate couldn't believe the day was finally happening either. Tripp had clapped him on the shoulder and told him not to be nervous; he wasn't nervous, exactly, but the looming presence of his grandfather and his mother's perpetual look of pain weren't all that comforting.<p>

He just wanted the doors to open and Serena to appear.

Why did the groom have to wait by himself, anyway? What was the point of all the separation? If he'd had his way, he and Serena would have gone straight from his house to the church, and entered together. Although if he and Serena had actually had their way, they'd be getting married on a beach. Without any of the van der Bilts. He really wished his mother would just be happy for him. Why were people always creating problems? Why couldn't he and the girl he loved just -

The back doors opened, cutting off his thought process. He turned eagerly. Straight past Anne, straight past William.

Blair came down the aisle first, and he thought with some fondness that she did look very pretty in her rich violet bridesmaid's dress. She was nowhere near as pale as she'd been on her own wedding day, her hair teased into loose curls and a faint smile on her face.

Before he could stop himself, Nate glanced to the pew at the front. Chuck's eyes were on Blair and only Blair. Nate couldn't see the expression on the guy's face – but he did see that there was only one person he was watching.

And he saw Blair's face as her eyes found Chuck's.

Then Serena grinned at him, and he stopped caring about anyone else in the church. He was entirely oblivious to Anne's wrinkled brow at the shortness of his bride's dress; oblivious to Howard's blink as he took in her long legs.

It was about time his family realised, anyway. The only thing that mattered was him and Serena.

* * *

><p>"For richer, for poorer..."<p>

Blair was supposed to be looking at the happy couple. It wasn't her fault that she was standing to the side of the bride and her eyes fell naturally towards a certain pew at the front.

And really, richer or poorer – how could she not glance at him?

She told herself he'd be watching Serena and Nate like everyone else, that a faint twist of her head wouldn't be noticed at all.

She was jolted to find those gold eyes locked on hers. His mouth curved, faintly, and she smiled back before she could help it; but her spine still tingled and she found she couldn't drag her own eyes away from the high slant of his cheekbone, the quirk of his lips and the dark intensity of his gaze.

"Till death do us part."

She forced herself back to the front.

But it didn't change the tiny skip in her heart beat that she told herself she still didn't understand.

* * *

><p>Nate and Serena's reception was held at the Van der Bilt compound. William had ignored the couple's protests, of course, and arranged transportation for the guests all the way to the estate. Nate figured that at least it mollified his mother a little.<p>

Chuck was on the way back from the bathroom when he found him outside the mansion's reception room where the rest of the guests had gathered.

He lifted a brow. "Missing your own party, Archibald?"

It wasn't quite the sneer he would normally have used – he was a little too distracted by thoughts of purple buttons gathered in a line down a slender back and dark curls brushing a creamy collar bone. And that turn of her lips -

"Serena's fixing her dress," Nate admitted. And the thought of going in there and facing all his relatives and their exhausting comments, without her, filled him with dread.

"Bored of playing nice?" Chuck drawled.

"Exhausted," Nate muttered back. "I just want this party to be over already."

Chuck threw him a glance. Was he really...identifying with _Nathaniel Archibald_ right now? Nate the great? Golden boy?

Jesus. He was.

"Well..." Sighing, Chuck pulled out his hip flask. "I guess you need this more than me, then."

(Truthfully, he hadn't needed to touch a drop. He'd been feeling strangely calm ever since the morning. He wanted to attribute it to seeing Fabiano locked up – but it was a smile in a car and not the oily criminal that he couldn't stop thinking about).

Nate blinked at him.

Of course. Golden boy wouldn't touch a drop -

"Thanks." And there was a grin of real gratitude on the blond's face as he took the flask and took a swig. He held it back out to Chuck afterwards. "Your turn."

Chuck kept his brow arched as he accepted it. And then, slowly, he held it out to Nate again.

* * *

><p>Blair was attempting to cheer both Lily and Serena up about the prospect of a night full of stares from the people they'd spent the last two years avoiding.<p>

"Darling," Lily murmured to her daughter now. "If you want to make a run for it, then I completely understand. I'll fetch Nathaniel-"

"No one is running anywhere," Blair intercepted. "Serena and Nate haven't even had their first dance yet." She turned to the older woman with narrowed eyes. "And even if the bride and groom disappeared, the party would carry on."

Lily's shoulders slumped a little. "I suppose," she sighed.

She and Serena still looked thoroughly miserable.

"S, this is the last hurdle." Blair's voice was firm. "After this it'll just be you and Nate."

The blonde perked up a little, at that. "I guess it will." She smiled. "You and Chuck got through it – and look at you now."

Blair paused. "I...yes."

She'd been about to deny it, instinctive, but she realised that it wasn't entirely untrue. No more debts looming over them. No more Fabiano. No more Eleanor, even.

Just her and Chuck.

Serena gave her a little nudge. "I'm the one who's meant to be all dreamy and love-struck, B." Her eyes sparkled with laughter now.

Blair's scowl was instant. "Right. Outside, now. Your guests await."

And she shoved the blonde in front of her.

* * *

><p>The sight that met the girls outside the reception room, however, was enough to make the the two of them stop. And slowly exchange a glance.<p>

Nate and Chuck were drinking together.

Serena cleared her throat. "Are we interrupting something?"

There was a slightly sheepish expression on Nate's face now as he gave the flask back to Chuck. "Uh...no." Sheepish for drinking or for actually talking to Chuck – Serena wasn't sure which.

She grinned, anyway, as she twined her arms around his neck. "Good. Because we wedding duties to perform." She proceeded to tug her husband away, her laugh mixing with his good-natured groans of protest.

Lily appeared at that moment.

Chuck didn't have time to hide the flask.

"Charles?" She couldn't have seen him since he was a boy, he realised. She shook her head in reproach. "_That_ is exactly what I need." She plucked it out of his hands and swallowed, very neatly, sighing a little afterwards. "Thank you." She wiped her mouth like a true lady and then descended on the other room.

Chuck glanced at Blair. "Care for a dance?" he murmured, very softly.

She remembered him asking the same thing a month ago. Except this time, she actually had a choice.

"I guess Nate and Serena need someone on the floor to distract from their awful footwork," she reflected.

His mouth twitched as his fingers closed over hers. And she tried to ignore the way her heart leapt to her throat at the heat of his hand on the small of her back as he led her into the other room.

* * *

><p>This time, when they danced, there were no interruptions.<p>

This time all eyes weren't on them.

(Just her and Chuck).

Blair couldn't entirely stop herself from leaning into him, into his grip round her waist and the smell of cologne and scotch. She could feel her blood heat at his breath on the bare skin of her neck as he pulled her against the hardness of his chest.

Her feet should have been hurting – they'd danced most of the night – but the only thing she was aware of was that shivering warmth as his fingers traced her lower back and his other hand gripped hers.

Quietly, she laid her head against his chest.

She fit under the curve of his chin, her hair brushing the hollow of his throat as she inhaled the scent of his shirt.

"Tired?"

She felt the vibration of his voice. And she wasn't...tired, exactly. But she did want to go home. And not in that lost sense she had a few weeks ago.

"Let's get out of here."

They passed Anne on their way out.

She was watching, unsmiling, as Serena and Nate twirled around the floor. Serena's skirt was hitched up as her arms were wrapped, tight, around Nate's neck; Nate was grinning at her as he held her waist.

"Good night," Blair called out to the woman. Deliberately. She smirked, suddenly, at Anne's puckered brow. "And congratulations. I don't think I've ever seen Nate or Serena happier."

And she swept out with Chuck, leaving Anne with a permanent frown on her face.

The lively band inside – Serena had got her wish, and now that William was otherwise occupied the Charleston had started – drowned out the first rumbles of thunder outside.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - First of all, sorry for the slight gap in updates! I've had a ridiculous amount of work lately. Also, please excuse the artistic lisence...there was, of course, no gangster called Fabiano involved in the Valentine's Day massacre. But this is AU, right? :) And finally thank you so so much for all your wonderful reviews!**


	23. Chapter 23

Lighting ripped the sky as the clouds let loose, unleashing torrents of rain against Manhattan's glistening streets and skyscrapers. Figures belted up against the downpour rushed for cover, umbrellas straining in the wind.

Chuck glanced at Blair as Arthur pulled to a stop outside the Empire. There were at least five seconds between the door of the car and the door of the hotel. And with the way the rain was going at the moment, that was plenty of time to get drenched.

"On three?" he murmured.

Blair gave a little nod.

And then they were tumbling through the downpour as Chuck's hand caught her waist, pulling her ahead of him and into the building.

Her hair glittered with raindrops in the elevator.

He went to take her slightly damp coat once they were in his suite; her arms were bare and cool underneath and he lingered just for a second. She jolted, slightly, as another loud crash of thunder sounded outside and their eyes landed on each other. There was a raindrop caught on her eyelash; his gaze moved, silently, over her face.

Then her mouth tilted a little and she drew away from him stand by the window. Lightning illuminated the curve of her neck as she watched the falling rain - he couldn't stop himself from crossing the room to look outside too. She felt him behind her, the damp heat of his shirt just seconds from her own body.

"Chuck." Her voice was soft over the sound of the rain, almost a breath as she watched the line of the Empire State Building flash with lightning. "What really happened to that painting?"

She sensed him still behind her, his exhalation as his hot breath hit the nape of her neck.

"I still have it."

He didn't need to say that it was in the drawer.

They were both silent for a moment; and perhaps it was the rain outside that finally made her it say it – perhaps it was his proximity, or the way he'd looked at her in the church. Or perhaps it was that he'd finally stopped pretending the painting didn't exist.

"Do you remember-"

(Her hand in his, two small heads so close they almost brushed and whispered secrets and giggles-)

His voice was very low. "Of course I do."

_You're my family._

The urge to turn her head and look into that face, those black gold eyes, was almost terrifying. They both gazed at the storm instead.

He remembered. So the painting had to mean something. Didn't it? Did it?

"Why?" she asked at last. "Why do you have it?"

She didn't know what she was really asking; why had he held onto it all those years, or why had he got it in the first place?

There was a pause before he chose the latter. "It was a birthday present." She did turn at that, confused; who would have bought him - "For you."

She stared at the slant of those eyes as she found her breath caught in her throat, searching his face.

"When?"

(When what she really wanted to ask was _why_?)

"Your eighth birthday," he admitted. He pursed his lips as though he wanted to add something else, then released a breath instead. There was another muffled clap from outside; his gaze flickered to the storm and then back to her, silent. "Because you were still scared of them."

She remembered her eighth birthday. She remembered her party because Chuck never showed. They'd got into another stupid fight about Chuck wanting to do _boy _things with Carter, but she'd still thought that when she sent him the invitation he'd come. He'd never missed her birthday before.

She remembered glancing at the door every five minutes to see if he'd walk in. He never did. She remembered smiling and pretending she'd never wanted him to anyway. Harold has asked her why she was crying afterwards – she'd told him it was because she didn't want her party to be over. She didn't say she hadn't wanted her party to be over because it meant that Chuck really wasn't going to show at all.

A week later, she'd seen him at the duck pond and then they'd stopped speaking to each other entirely.

She stared at him now. Because why had he bought her a painting if he hadn't planned on showing at her party? She'd assumed he just hadn't bothered - or, worse, forgotten.

"But...you never came."

_I waited._

"You were with Nate and Serena," Chuck muttered. He wasn't looking at her any more. "I didn't think I'd be...missed."

He'd got as far as the door, ignoring Carter's warning that she probably hadn't even meant the invite because sooner or later, girls like _her _decided boys like him were no good.

And then he'd seen her. Little white dress and dark hair in two little plaits, smiling as Nate shook his blond fringe out of his eyes and Serena grabbed her other arm.

And all the bitter resentment that had been building for weeks – each time Nate appeared at the Waldorf's and Anne Archibald commented on how adorable he and Blair were; each time Blair had refused to play with him because Carter was there, each time she yelled that she couldn't bear the thought of Chuck being anything like him – had been too much.

She'd looked _happy._

He'd walked out a second before Blair could glance, again, at the door.

"You were." Her voice was quiet and suddenly fierce, and he looked down at her. She'd missed him? She'd _wanted_ him there?

Blair shook her head. She'd spent so many weeks after that stupid party wondering what it was Carter had that she didn't; wondering why it was so easy for Chuck to just stop caring about her.

Telling herself Chuck was _bad._

And the whole time, she'd been...wrong.

"You didn't forget," she murmured. She was facing him, now, away from the window as her hand slowly cupped his cheek. Her fingers traced the curve of the bone, tentative.

His eyes closed at the light heat of her touch, and he was almost inaudible. "No."

How could he ever _forget_?

She kissed him then.

She had to stretch upwards to fuse her lips with his, hand still cradling his jaw as something unfurled inside her. He went to pull away, eyes dark as he studied her. But she didn't let go. She tugged his face back to hers and kissed him again.

And then his own hands slid down to her waist to kiss her back – she tasted of rain.

He deepened the kiss as her fingers moved to the back of his hair and her small breasts pressed against the thin material of his shirt, straining to get closer. Her body was warm and supple under his hands, her hair still a little damp as she captured his lips again.

She smelt of rain too, perfume and shampoo; and he felt her sudden intake of breath as he swept her off her feet. Her arms tightened round his neck as his grip slid up her thighs, carrying her away from the storm and into the bedroom.

They fell onto the mattress together, her legs still wrapped around his torso as she reached for his shirt.

His lips found her collar bone; she moaned, faintly, as her fingers raked his chest. Then he was undoing those small buttons on the back of her dress, fingers sliding slowly over them as they brushed the skin of her spine and buried his mouth in the sweet spot of her neck.

He felt her hand move to the zip of his trousers; and he caught her wrists, pushing them back up over her head as he murmured just below her ear, breathing heavy, "Wait."

He parted her legs for him, gripping the soft strip of bare skin above her stockings as he encircled her slender thighs. Then his fingers were rubbing against the lace edge of her underwear, sliding underneath the fabric to find her warm and wet and ready.

She let out another moan at the pressure of his touch. Her back arched as he slipped one finger inside her, and then all he could hear above the rain were her soft whimpers of pleasure. He tugged her underwear off completely so that he could kiss her there. His fingers marked the pale skin of her thighs as he tasted her, feeling her squirm underneath him.

And then her nails were digging into his scalp as she tried to pull him back up to her, buried in his hair.

"Chuck," she gasped as his hands gripped her hips, his weight covering her again as they found themselves forehead to forehead. Her hair was still damp – this time, with sweat – curls spilled over his pillow as those brown eyes wide under his. He could still taste her on his lips, feel the curve of her hip bone under his hand and breathe in her scent.

He remembered that urge to have her horizontal and sweary underneath him, those dark locks against the whiteness of his sheets. And he suddenly realised that all that time he'd spent trying to prove she was _bad, _he'd been wrong.

Because the real secret – the one that she would admit to no one; not even herself – was that Blair Waldorf was good.

She was _good._

__(And maybe he'd known that the whole time).

She felt the movement against his throat as he swallowed; and she stared up at him, fingers brushing his jaw. "What is it?" Her voice was still uneven.

Lightning flickered against his white face for a moment, dark hair ruffled as his eyes moved over her. They were blacker than she'd ever seen them. He kissed her neck again; and this time his teeth scraped lightly against her skin as his lips found that spot below her ear. His hold on her hips tightened.

"I love you."

She stopped breathing. All she could see were the dark pools of his eyes. And that feeling in her chest was suddenly paralysing – because it _hurt._

Love hurt.

That was why she'd made up her mind to never want it again. She didn't want Chuck to want it. Not that pain. And not because of her – not when she knew the truth and he didn't. He wouldn't love her if he found out, anyway. She knew that first hand.

Her hands found his bare chest; and then she was pushing, hard. She twisted out from underneath him and tried not to cry.

"Blair."

He grabbed her before she could get off the bed, pinning her back down. His hair was still in disarray as he stared down at her, his bare chest hot above hers, and there was something about the look in his eyes that reminded her of a little boy and made it hurt even more.

Because she wasn't the little girl who'd known that boy. It wasn't even guilt - Blair didn't do guilt - it was the sickening knowledge that he was finally telling her the truth and she'd been lying all this time.

"Don't-"

"Chuck." Her voice was little more than a whisper. She was still on her back, his legs holding hers in place. But she twisted her head so that she didn't have to look him in the eye. "I don't...think this is a good idea."

He was suddenly very aware that he was holding her down on the bed.

Slowly, he released his grip on her forearms.

And she was suddenly very cold as she felt his weight ease off her; but she took the opportunity to climb away and off his bed. She tried and failed to keep her legs steady as she pulled down her dress.

"I'll sleep in the guest room tonight."

He was silent.

It was freezing in the guest room, and she shivered as she yanked her dress off and reached for her nightgown. She was halfway into bed, still shivering, when the door opened.

Chuck stood in the doorway. His eyes gleamed and his shirt was still open; he didn't move into her room, but he clearly wasn't going anywhere either.

"What's going on, Blair?"

She swallowed. "Nothing."

He glanced at her hands on the coverlet. "Then why are you shaking like a leaf?"

She wrapped her arms around herself, hiding them from Chuck's view. "It's cold."

"So come back to bed." It came out a challenge; but he stopped as he saw the expression on her face. "Waldorf," he managed, eyes closing for a second. "Look, you don't have to-"

"It's not about that." She cut him off, voice tight.

He regarded her. "Then what?"

She folded her arms even tighter, looking anywhere but into that dark gaze. "Do you remember what you said at that gala?" She was suddenly very quiet; he stared. "No one good could ever love you."

He'd gone still.

"You were right," she whispered.

There was a long silence.

"I see," Chuck managed at last. He tore his eyes away from her. _No one good could ever love you. _How had he been stupid enough to forget his own advice?

"I'll see you in the morning."

Blair waited till she heard his door shut and the whole suite was in darkness before she even tried to close her eyes. She could still hear the thunder outside – Chuck may not have been lying in a pool of his own blood, but that same feeling that had gripped her in her dream engulfed her now.

She had no one to blame but herself.

And this time she couldn't creep into his room to check that he was all right.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Um...so on a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you hate me? Please please stick it out – I promise this is the (beginning of) the last bit of real angst! Also, this was meant to be up way earlier. What's wrong with fanfiction? I keep having problems with the stupid login page. Anyway. Thank you so so much for your reviews :)**


	24. Chapter 24

Lily was holding a brunch the next morning for the newly-weds. No van der Bilts invited.

Blair had half expected Chuck to cancel; the last thing _she_ felt like was pancakes and smoked salmon with her giddily happy friends. But he'd been suited and waiting in the hall when she'd emerged from the bathroom.

Their car ride was silent.

The distance between them, across the leather seats, threatened to engulf her. She couldn't even look at him. But she could sense the tightness of his jaw as he sat in silence.

He went to get out once they pulled up outside the van der Woodsens; and she stopped him, suddenly. "Chuck."

He glanced back at her.

"I wanted to...we need to talk."

His mouth twisted faintly. "Do we?"

She managed not to flinch. "I...I wanted to talk about...the annulment."

He froze; and this time he couldn't hide the flicker in his eyes. He just stared at her. "Right," he said at last, with great difficulty. "So now you do want one?"

"I think it would be for the best."

His lip curled. But she realised he was still searching her face as though waiting for her to stop. She didn't.

So his own face went blank. "We might have to consult someone. I'm not sure if last night would count as consummation or not." His voice was deliberately cruel. "I might not have come, but you..."

She looked away. He didn't miss the pale spots on her cheeks. "We can talk about it after brunch."

His jaw was still clenched as he watched her leave. The truth was, he was furious with himself. Why the hell had he ever told her he _loved _her? Was he even capable of love? And what had been thinking – that she'd actually say it back? No, that was the problem. He _hadn't_ been thinking. He'd been too caught up in the feel of her skin and those brown eyes and the way she'd been looking at him.

And now he'd fucked everything up.

(And the worst part of all of it was that he still felt exactly the same way.)

He _couldn't _lose her.

* * *

><p>Serena and Nate were as all over each other as could be expected. Georgie looked vaguely disgusted as they proceeded to feed each other strawberries and cream. Particularly as Serena kept missing Nate's mouth and then kissing all the cream off.<p>

She'd noticed something was wrong with Blair, though. The other girl was practically silent. No smirks between her and Chuck this morning. Chuck wasn't bothering to talk to anyone. He was also watching, like Georgie, as Blair didn't touch a bite of the food on her plate. Georgie eventually decided she'd had enough of her friend cutting her grapefruit into a hundred slices and pretending not to see Chuck track her every move. It was ridiculous.

She took the seat next to Blair once the dishes had been cleared, leaning in and out of Chuck's earshot.

"What's your problem?"

"Nothing," Blair muttered back.

Georgina rolled her eyes.

Blair was watching Chuck now. Nate had convinced him to go out to the balcony for a smoke; Blair was only watching because he had his back to her and couldn't see.

"Jesus," Georgie groaned. "What's he done now?"

"_Nothing_," Blair said, even sharper.

No. That had all been her. Georgina, however, was studying the smaller girl. And she'd just seen the faint marks on her neck.

"Oh my God." She stared at her. "You slept with him." She couldn't quite keep the revulsion out of her voice. "How could you be so _stupid?"_

"I didn't sleep with him," Blair hissed.

"Really?" Georgie grabbed her friend's chin. "Then who gave you those?"

Blair jerked backwards, face flushing as her hands clenched in her lap. "It's none of your business."

But Georgie had just noticed the faint bruise on Blair's wrist from where Chuck had pulled her back down onto the bed. "Blair." There was a glint in those blue eyes as she watched her. "Did he force himself on you?"

"_No_."

"Then what?" Georgina snarled. "You let him do that to you willingly? When you can't even count the number of sluts he sleeps with?" Her eyes narrowed. "Probably in the same bed, too. You know damn well that sex means nothing to him. Is that what you want? To be another one of his whores?"

"Sex means nothing to you," Blair pointed out venomously. It sounded weak even to her own ears.

Because she wished she knew last night had meant nothing to him. She almost wished he _had_ forced himself on her – anything to go back to a world where he was the villain.

Because she couldn't lie any more.

It had never been him.

He was coming in from the balcony now; and there was just a moment when their eyes met and she was filled with a blinding, aching longing that made her feel so sick she had to look away. His black hair and the morning sunlight slanting off his gold eyes, burning into hers -

"I don't feel well." She was on her feet and ripping herself out of Georgie's grasp, heading straight for the elevator.

A hand stopped the doors before they could slide shut. Chuck blocked their path, moving into the compartment to stop it from going anywhere.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing-"

"Don't tell me nothing." His eyes narrowed. "What were you and Georgina talking about?"

"_Nothing_, Chuck."

The doors closed behind him; she moved to hit the button but he beat her to it, yanking out the emergency lever so that the elevator wasn't going anywhere. She was trapped in the corner of the lift now, and it suddenly felt like he was everywhere. Like she couldn't breathe.

"Blair. Tell me what's going on."

That haunted look was back in her eyes, and he didn't understand why. She went to push him away and he caught her arm. That was when he saw the bruise.

"She was asking me what happened last night, all right?" She hadn't even seen the mark, face tilted up to his and voice rising. "That's all. Are you satisfied?"

He let her go.

Exhaling, she pushed the lever back in and the doors slid open once more. "You should go back the brunch," she murmured. "I have a headache."

She did _not _have a headache. "I'll come with you," Chuck said flatly.

"Can you just tell Nate and Serena I'm sorry?" There was an edge of exhausted desperation in her voice. "Please?"

He stared at her for a moment. "Fine," he said at last. "I'll see you at home." But first he was going to damn well find Georgina.

* * *

><p>Georgie gazed at her reflection as she added another layer of coral lipstick. She pursed her mouth in satisfaction; the shade went perfectly with her cream dress. Blair had bolted. But it looked like there were a few problems in her marital bliss, and Georgie hadn't even had to do anything.<p>

She _knew _Chuck would end up hurting her. In fact -

"What the hell did you say to her?"

She nearly jumped – Chuck was standing at the bathroom door. He shut it behind him as he moved into the room, ignoring her raised eyebrows. She could sense his anger.

She turned back to the mirror with a sigh. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." His gaze hardened as he watched her. "I heard you call her a whore."

"Sweetie," Georgie laughed, "I'll call my best friend whatever I want."

"Best friend?" Chuck's voice was icy. "I wasn't aware best friends," it was a sneer, "Betrayed each other. Lie all you want to Blair, but I know it was you who went to Fabiano."

At that, the girl just scoffed. "Please. I'm the one who helped you_ destroy_ Fabiano."

"Only because you didn't want Blair to find out."

Georgina finally turned on him. "How are you so sure it was me, Bass? How do you know it wasn't _Blair_?" She tilted her head. "Last time I checked, she owed you enough revenge. Or was it someone else who blackmailed her father into handing her over?"

Chuck's eyes slanted, but his voice was quite even. "She might have had plenty reason, but that's not Blair's style. Only someone as unhinged as you would consider involving Fabiano." He'd realised the same thing a long time before Blair had shown up with the money to save him.

A wild laugh escaped Georgie. "You really think you know her that well?"

"Better than you," Chuck murmured. "Or you'd have known not to go to him at all." Better than her because Georgina would never be able to accept that Blair _wasn't_ like her.

An ugly look crossed the girl's face. "Better than me?" She ground her teeth. "Really?" She advanced on him now, gaze glittering. "You know everything about her, then? She's told you _everything_?"

Chuck just looked at her coldly.

"You want to talk about betrayal?" she asked suddenly. "About best friends? Why don't you ask Carter what happened two years ago?"

He rolled his eyes. "What are you-"

"Why don't you ask him," Georgina smirked, "What he did when Blair showed up in Gimlet one night? Only," she paused as she watched his expression, the sudden tightening of his lips and that blackness in his eyes, "From what I saw, it wasn't just one night. And it wasn't all Carter."

"You're lying."

Her coral lips spread in a wide, triumphant smile. "What? You don't believe Blair would do something like that? She did, Chucky." There was pure malice on her face. "You don't _know_ her. You think she's going to be your redemption – but the truth is, she's even more screwed up than you are. She's not here to save you. She'd not going to make you a better person. And you," she hissed, "Will never be able to accept that."

She gave him a final look of loathing before she snatched her make up bag and walked out.

* * *

><p>When Chuck got back to the suite, it was empty.<p>

The guest room was empty. And not just of her – empty of all her clothes from the wardrobe, all her soaps from the bathroom.

There was a single note laid on his pillow instead.

_I'm sorry._

* * *

><p>Georgina hadn't meant to go that far. Chuck had – well, he'd provoked her. Trying to corner her in the bathroom. She could have got over the Fabiano thing had he not then tried to tell her he knew Blair better than she did. He was <em>wrong. <em>And hearing Blair _defend_ him after she'd seen those bruises on her neck -

She'd done her best friend a favour.

The truth was that all men – even the depraved ones – were hypocrites. Even if he'd only valued her purity because it meant he could violate it, the fact was that Chuck wouldn't want her now he'd found out someone else had violated her first.

And Blair didn't deserve that.

She shouldn't have to be _good_ to compensate for what Chuck was like. What Georgie had told him was true - Blair shouldn't have to be the one who saved him.

The bad boy and the virgin was the most ridiculous cliché in the book.

Of course, that didn't mean Georgina had any intention of letting Blair find out she'd told. Especially since she wasn't even supposed to know in the first place – she only did because she'd caught the other girl getting out of Carter's car one night two years ago.

It had been right after the whole sordid affair between Nate and Serena emerged. Blair and Nate broke up, and Blair suddenly disappeared. She was suddenly never home and always busy when Georgina called.

Truthfully, Georgie had feared the worst after she'd seen her slip into Gimlet.

Chuck Bass.

Compared to that, Carter had been somewhat of a relief. There was no danger of Blair falling for him. And at least she knew he was using her, and she was using him right back. Blair had hit rock bottom. But the only way to go from rock bottom was up. And at least rock bottom meant she couldn't get her heart broken again – or so Georgie had thought till now.

So Georgie had said nothing at the time. She'd played along as Blair pretended it had never happened. She'd helped her crawl her way back up to the top.

_She _knew Blair. Not Chuck.

Which was why, now, she needed to find Blair and get in some damage control. The problem was that she couldn't find Blair.

Anywhere.

Not in her penthouse, not at Serena's – there was no sign of her. Georgie had even just come from Chuck's suite. She hadn't been allowed in, but she'd been told by one of the maids that it was empty too. She was on her way out of the Empire, ready to leave another message with Dorota, when she ran into Carter. The man looked vaguely annoyed as he brushed past her.

"Looking for Chuck?" she asked sweetly. She realised he couldn't have found him yet.

Baizen just rolled his eyes. "Have you seen him?"

"No." Georgina paused, smiling. "You should really stop losing him."

Carter rolled his eyes again and moved off in the direction of the elevator, muttering about 'minders'. Seriously, where the hell _was _his best friend?

* * *

><p>He found the suite empty too. Well, great. He even peered into the bedroom in case Chuck and his wife had got a little too occupied. But the bed didn't look like it had even been slept in last night.<p>

Where were they?

He scanned the room in frustration, eyes landing on a sheet of paper on the floor. He picked it up. And he paused as he read the two words. That wasn't Chuck's handwriting.

He felt a little ill as he checked the closets, even the guest rooms. There was no sign of any of Blair's things. He knew damn well she'd been staying in the suite, and he was pretty sure she wasn't the kind of girl to travel light.

So why weren't her clothes here any more?

Especially when all of Chuck's_ were_?

Impossible, he told himself. There was no way – there wasn't. He glanced at the note again. Had Chuck read it? He felt very ill now.

There was one place he hadn't checked. He hadn't bothered with Victrola as the joint wasn't officially open yet. He dropped the note and headed out the door, praying that there was something else Blair was sorry about. Chuck _couldn't _know.

* * *

><p>Victrola was empty.<p>

Its office wasn't.

The blinds were pulled down in the room, Chuck's face shadowed as he slumped back against his leather chair. The only gleam of light came from the scotch glass in his hand.

He knew.

"So you planned all of this?" His voice was hollow in the darkness; Carter almost jumped, despite himself. "Pushing me towards Blair so that I could find out the truth and you'd have your revenge? Well, bravo," he sneered blankly. "This was good, even for you."

Carter could just make out the harsh curve of the other man's unshaven jaw. "Don't be stupid."

"No," Chuck said, slowly. "What was stupid was thinking we were actually friends." He rolled the bitter word around in his mouth. _Friends. _Chuck Bass didn't have friends. "What was _stupid_ was thinking you wouldn't stab me in the back the first chance you got." His voice was a flat promise. "Don't worry. It won't happen again."

Well, Carter was having none of that. He didn't do guilt. "Stab you in the back?" he snapped. "You mean like you did when you went to Fabiano?"

Chuck regarded him from the shadows. "I knew you'd never let that go," he murmured. And here it was; proof. "I knew you hadn't." He shook his head. "I made a mistake, Baizen. One that I've apologised for. I settled the debt. Was all this really necessary?"

"I _did_ let it go," Baizen seethed. "This was never my revenge. Sleeping with her in the first place was." He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "You were never supposed to find out."

Chuck just looked at him in disbelief. "So you telling me to chase after her – when you knew, all along – was what? Your attempt to keep it hidden? Please."

Carter glared at him. "I pushed you towards her because I felt bad, you fucking dope. God knows why."

"What, you thought I should get to sample her too? Only fair, seeing as you did?"

"No," Carter spat back. "Because I knew you'd always had a little soft spot for her, and I thought if you finally got her, you'd both stop being so fucking miserable all the time." He paused a moment, shaking his head. "Believe it or not, I felt bad for her. Not you."

"Her?" Chuck repeated, lip curling.

"The first time...I got her drunk, all right?" Carter sighed. "I knew she was upset about something and I used it. And I kept using it. And then, once, she was crying into her pillow when she thought I couldn't hear, and I just...Christ, I never wanted _that_. And then at the end she got all weird and told me if I ever told anyone she'd swear it was rape and get me sent down." He rolled his eyes. "So I felt bad, all right?"

Chuck had gone very, very quiet.

"Look," Carter sighed again into the deadly silence. "It's not like you've ever liked your girls pure anyway; and what's one notch on her bedpost compared to the scores on yours? Stop being such a hypocrite."

"You got her drunk?" Chuck echoed numbly. "You used her?"

Crying – she'd been crying?

He suddenly remembered the lazy flick of Carter's wrist as he'd tossed stones at those damn ducks, his gaze skimming straight past the small girl trying to stop him. And a high voice in the cold air telling _Chuck_ to stop him.

Carter wasn't prepared for it; the fist that slammed into his face. Chuck was staring down at him, shaking with pure rage.

"Get out. Get out of here now." His fists were still clenched, his eyes blazing. "I don't ever want to see you again."

* * *

><p>The suite was still empty.<p>

Chuck had finally left Victrola because he had no scotch left. Because he was exhausted. There was no heating in the club either, and his knuckles were raw with broken skin from where he'd punched Carter.

He felt empty. His empty stomach burned with scotch, the pain dulled to a throb now as he moved through the darkened rooms.

Her letter lay abandoned on the floor.

He suddenly couldn't stand to see the twist of that 's' – _sorry_ – that hadn't changed since they were kids and she'd perfected her cursive. The flimsy paper crinkled in his hand as he headed for the fireplace. And as soon as he'd thrown it into the flames he found himself thinking, irrationally, that the stupid note had been the last thing of hers he had left in the suite.

Or maybe not quite the last thing.

Considering the amount he'd drunk, his hands were oddly steady as he unlocked the drawer in his study and pulled out the painting. He didn't want to look at the painted raindrops; not when he could still see those raindrops gathered in her hair and eyelashes. The lightning against her skin. And the pressure of her nails in the palm of his hand, wide-eyed; her nails against his chest as her back arched under him.

His own nails dug into the edge of the picture. If he burned it now he'd never have to see it again.

If he burned it now then he'd have nothing left of hers.

It landed on the plush carpet with a muffled thump.

He didn't open a bottle of scotch or bother undressing before he climbed into his bed. The sheets were cold as he lay on his back. He could still see that look in her eyes as she'd frozen underneath him on the same sheets. _No one good could ever love you._

He realised he no longer knew what she'd meant by that. No one good could ever love him? Or her? Who did she think wasn't good, and who didn't love who?

_She's not going to make you a better person. _

But he'd never wanted that. He'd never wanted her to be his redemption - he'd never wanted her to savehim. His last thought, before he fell into restless alcohol-fuelled sleep, was that he just wanted her _here. _

* * *

><p>Carter hadn't gone home. He was at the bar, nursing a black eye and a glass of whiskey. He quite clearly wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, but he felt a girl slip into the stool next to him. Of course.<p>

"Carter," Georgie purred. "You're here all alone? Where's Chuck?"

Slowly, Carter looked at her. He _knew_ it. "You told him." He stared at Georgina in absolute disgust. "You crazy bitch."

"I may be a crazy bitch," she answered, sweetly, "But at least I still have my best friend."

"You really think Blair's gonna be your _friend_ when she finds out what you did?"

"And how is she going to find out?" Georgie enquired. "I'll just tell her you told."

"Except Chuck knows it was you."

"And you really think he'll vouch for you?" she snorted. "Please."

"He sure as hell won't vouch for you either," Carter sneered back. "And Blair will never believe it was me."

Georgie just rolled her eyes. "I'm assuming she gave you some kind of threat she thought would keep you in place. But we all know the only thing you really care about is stirring up trouble." She smirked. "And if thinking you were the one that told makes her carry out her threat...well, all the better."

Carter's face stayed blank, but she saw his jaw twitch. Clenched.

She leaned even closer into his space, eyes gleaming as her voice dropped viciously. "I told you there'd be consequences." Her smile was slow and nasty as he threw down his glass and stormed out.

* * *

><p>The hotel in Queens was nestled between a speakeasy and a gambling house, a dark building down a side alley. The single light in its lobby flickered dubiously. A few men were hunched over its rickety tables, hats pulled down over their eyes. A couple glanced up as the door swung open.<p>

A girl entered.

She was small and pale, coat pulled right up so that her face was almost concealed. She quite clearly didn't belong here. If she went missing, the man at reception reflected, it would be months before anyone she knew even thought to look _here. _

She dropped a note onto the uneven counter.

"Room for one, please."

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Ok...I am predicting a wee bit of backlash for this. As in, Blair sleeping with Carter. And, yes, losing her virginity to him. But just remember you haven't heard her side of the story yet! There's just one thing I want to make clear: a few people guessed that Carter might have raped Blair. I know that quite a few people like the idea of Blair's 'purity'...I'm not one of them. To be completely honest, the Blair Waldorf I knew from season 1 wanted sex but just didn't admit it because she was worried about her reputation. I don't think whether or not she was a virgin made any difference to Chuck in terms of how much he respected/ wanted her - he spent most of s1 trying to encourage her to have sex too. (IMO the whole 'delicate and untouched' thing in 1x13 was about playing into her insecurities - he went for the thing he knew would hurt beecause he knew how obsessed she was with reputation). So in this fic, Blair is not a victim per se. Or not a rape victim, anyway. No more than she was when she slept with Carter and even Jack on the show (although the Jack thing is still a little sketchy in my mind given it was a man and an underage girl and they never quite explained it. But anyway.) The haunted look in her eye has nothing to do with rape; it's more two years of denial catching up with her. Hopefully it'll be clearer next chapter.**

**Blair makes mistakes. So does Chuck. The point of this fic is that neither of them are the 'villain'. And as much as you might hate Carter and Georgie atm, I'm trying not to make them entirely one-dimensional...I hope it's kind of coming across? **

**Thanks so much for your reviews :) And i'm hoping that after next chapter and some CB interaction the whole how much you hate me might be down from 10? :) **


	25. Chapter 25

Nate and Serena still hadn't decided on a maid. They'd been far too busy in their bedroom – in every room of their new penthouse, in fact – to trouble themselves with such boring domestic decisions. When they'd finally lifted themselves out of bed this morning, they'd been a little thrown to find their own kitchen cupboards all bare. So they were brunching at the van der Woodsens' yet again.

Really, Lily reflected, it was a miracle they'd even managed to get themselves dressed and over here. She supposed their stomachs had won out in the end.

They were mid-devouring pancakes when the elevator went.

"Serena. Sorry for interrupting."

Chuck didn't look sorry – he looked a wreck. His crisp suit did nothing to disguise how ravaged his face was.

Nate and Serena exchanged a glance, bewildered. "Are you all right? Where's Blair?" It wasn't like Chuck would ever come to see them without her.

Serena had actually sent Georgie packing the other day; the other girl kept popping up and demanding to know where Blair was. She'd been particularly rude yesterday, so that Serena had finally snapped that she was sure Blair was enjoying herself with Chuck. And it was none of Georgie's business. Serena _never _snapped; but she'd never liked Georgie anyway. And she usually liked everyone. She'd heard enough of the comments Georgie had made about Chuck before – and she was pretty sure her best friend would be better off without Georgie's constant interference and criticism.

Chuck's eyes had narrowed. "She's not here, then?" His gaze was already sweeping the room, face unreadable.

"No," Serena frowned a little. So Blair hadn't been with Chuck all this time? "What's going on?"

Chuck was aware of Lily and Nate still in the room.

"I need to talk to you," he said brusquely. Surely Serena knew. He glanced at the blonde; her face was still puckered in confusion. She _had _to know. "About Carter."

But Serena's face was still blank.

She didn't know, he realised. The amount of times Blair had hauled her drunken ass out of joints, stopped her going home with not just one but groups of men – and Blair hadn't even told her? He'd been expecting her to hide out at the blonde's. But if not even Serena knew where she was now -

"What about Carter?" Nate was frowning too. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Chuck snapped. "I just need to find her." He realised they were all staring at him. "We have dinner with Bart later. He won't be pleased if I show up by myself." His voice was tight.

Serena was still trying to work it out. "Did you two have a fight?" she asked, worried.

"No." It was little more than a snarl. (A fight would involve her actually being here, after all). "I just wanted to know if you'd seen her."

Nate had noticed the odd clench of his jaw and white face. He might have been trying to act otherwise, but he actually looked _worried._

"We'll help you find her," he announced; Chuck just gave him a look. But he saw genuine concern in the blond's eyes. He really did want to help.

"Just," he managed, curt, "Tell me if she turns up here." He turned and walked out before either of them could add anything else.

* * *

><p>Lily caught him before he got into the elevator. They were out of Nate and Serena's earshot, and despite the haze of drink she usually numbed herself with these days, she hadn't failed to notice the state he was in either.<p>

It was funny – a couple of years ago, she'd actually had a brief affair with his father. She remembered Bart Bass all too well. If it hadn't been for Eric, she might even be married to him now. And the hollow young man standing before her might even have been her stepson.

He was nothing like her own son. Hard and angular where Eric had been soft, darker hair and darker, older eyes. But his pale face looked so lost as he stood by the elevator that she felt something painful stir somewhere familiar.

Perhaps all her confinement had unhinged her a little. Giving advice to a boy she barely knew; even if she felt like she did. Because even if she didn't have a son any more, she was still a mother. And even if that boy didn't have a mother any more, he was still a son.

"Where is she?"

He stared at the elevator doors for a moment. "I don't know," he growled at last.

"So why aren't you looking for her?"

He stiffened. He looked like he was about to ask what business of hers it was; instead he shook his head. "She doesn't want to be found."

Lily sighed. "Charles?" She glanced at him. "Go bring her home."

* * *

><p>"Blair." Georgina's teeth were ground as she spoke into the telephone receiver. "I'd like to leave another message for Blair. Tell her that she's being ridiculous. I don't know where the hell she's gone, but I'm waiting. She knows she has to come home sooner or later."<p>

And when she did, Georgina would be there.

* * *

><p>"Miss Georgina," Dorota sighed, "I tell you-"<p>

She paused. The figure waiting in the hallway was a man, not a girl. And it wasn't Mr. Chuck.

"Can I help?" she asked very cautiously.

"I'm looking for Blair."

The maid raised her eyes heavenwards. "And I tell you same thing I tell everyone else. Miss Blair not here. I not know where she is."

"I need to talk to her," the man snapped. "It's important."

"Yes, yes," Dorota muttered. "Important for everyone else too. She not _here_. If she come home, I pass on message. Mr-?"

"Baizen," the man snarled. "Carter Baizen."

* * *

><p>Carter had enjoyed fucking Blair Waldorf. Initially.<p>

He'd fucked her to fuck Chuck. Sure, there was something hot about a girl as uptight as she was coming undone. He remembered her vaguely as a kid; she'd sure as hell grown up when he pulled her onto the mattress with him and his hands found those small full breasts under her dress. When those brown eyes were closed, head arched back as he entered her.

But what he'd really enjoyed was knowing what it would do to Chuck.

Chuck had fucking betrayed him and tried to go off with _Fabiano_, of all people. At that stage Carter hadn't known about the money – just that Chuck had gone behind his back. So how would Chuck like it when his precious Blair was in between Carter's thighs? If Carter believed in signs, then her coming to Gimlet that night would have been just that. It was an opportunity too good to pass up.

It had started off with all the sweetness of revenge.

The morning after that first night, she'd picked up her dress from his bedroom floor and tried to creep out. He hadn't planned on stopping her. He'd got his revenge. But then he'd made the mistake of glancing at her pale face from his position on his bed. And it had made him feel..._bad. _He didn't understand the savage twist of guilt. Carter Baizen never felt _guilt. _So he'd stopped her.

"Leaving so soon?"

He'd still been naked as he'd wrapped an arm around her waist and started kissing her neck. She hadn't tasted as sweet as she had last night, so he'd kissed harder and slipped his hand back into her panties, pulling her against his bare thighs. He'd had her on the verge of coming right there – and she'd turned suddenly, pushing him away. Pushing him down onto the mattress as her body had crashed into his. Her lips had been cold against his chest.

He kept sneaking around with her because he didn't want to feel bad about what he was doing to Chuck. Because, he told himself, it had nothing to do with Chuck. It meant nothing to either of them, so what was the problem? She was hot and she wanted sex. She wasn't the little girl that Chuck had used to play with. She was just another tight body and a warm mouth, and she was using him as much as he was her.

She never spent the night, and she never looked at him when she came. She never looked at him at all.

And then one night she'd showed up at Gimlet when Chuck was there. Carter had pushed her out of the door before Chuck could see; Chuck had been busy with his girl of the night, in any case. Carter had called the car round. She'd said nothing as they both climbed in. Her kisses had been even hotter that night, her grip even tighter and her eyes closed the whole time. He'd told himself she really knew how to let loose.

That same night after they'd finished, he'd gone to get a drink. She usually took that opportunity to leave. But he hadn't been able to find a glass, so he'd gone back into the room.

And that was when he'd seen her.

She was curled on her side, cheek pressed into the pillow. The material had muffled her sobs. Because she'd seen Chuck, he knew. He'd turned and walked straight back out; and he waited till she left before he entered his room again. The pillow had still been damp.

Not some girl crying on his bed. Blair Waldorf.

He hadn't wanted anything to do with her after that. (He'd wanted to erase all of it). He'd planned on telling her it was over. When he didn't hear from her for a week, he suddenly wondered if she'd done something stupid.

He'd gone round to her penthouse – the last place he'd wanted to be – to find her pale and upright in pearls and a high collar. He'd wondered if his love bites still marked her neck. She'd told him to get out. And there had been an odd, cold light in her eyes as she'd told him it had never happened; that if he ever forgot that or breathed a word of it to anyone, she'd tell them all he'd forced himself on her. He'd had no intention of ever letting it get out anyway. He'd been more than happy – relieved, in fact - to go along with acting like they'd never so much as spoken, let alone spent several nights fooling around.

He'd thought if he could push her and Chuck together then it really wouldn't matter any more. He'd thought it would stay buried forever. He hadn't counted on Georgina fucking Sparks.

He needed to find Blair.

* * *

><p>"All right, doll?"<p>

Blair ignored the leer as she pulled her coat a little closer, forcing down the watery tea because it was hot. She'd been shivering too hard in the freezing hotel room last night to get any proper sleep. And she hadn't been warm since.

She'd picked the hotel because she knew no one would find her there. (Even as she'd wondered why he'd even be looking). She hadn't counted on it not having any heating. Which was the only reason she felt cold to her bone. And the only reason she hadn't slept last night.

Still, she'd only be here one more night.

She'd run away with no plan of where she was actually going; the sad truth was, she didn't know where to go. She didn't _have_ anywhere to go. But she knew now that she wanted to get out of this city. She'd stupidly run away without taking enough money – she'd been more concerned with getting out of the suite before Chuck got back, and she'd figured she could access her account later - and she'd had to pawn the ruby ring Harold had given her to buy a ticket to France. But she hadn't wanted the ring any more anyway.

(And she hadn't been able to bring herself to pawn her wedding ring, even though she knew it was pointless now. It _hurt _too much on her finger.)

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

The man was greasy and stubbly and she felt sick just looking at him. She remembered Carter asking her the same thing when she'd showed up at Gimlet two years ago. She'd never answered him - she'd told herself she didn't know. By the end of the night the outcome had been the same anyway. Blair Waldorf was dead and buried. She'd told herself that was what she'd wanted all along.

She swallowed more of her tea now, gripping the handle tight.

She'd be out of here by tomorrow morning.

* * *

><p>Harold was taken by surprise when he arrived home and a girl practically pounced on him. It took him a moment to recognise her as one of Blair's friends.<p>

"Mr. Waldorf, I was just wondering-"

"Where's Blair?"

Harold blinked as he recognised the other voice. Carter Baizen stood on the other side of the foyer, though it was clear he and Georgina were ignoring each other.

Just seeing Carter made Harold feel decidedly queasy. "Listen here, Mr. Baizen. You got your money-"

"I'm not here about that," the man snarled. "Your daughter's gone missing, you fool."

Harold blinked again. "What?"

He hadn't seen Blair since she'd found out the truth about the unfortunate gambling incident, but he'd told himself he'd done all he could and he should probably give her some space. He'd given her the money and he'd made it right – hadn't he?

Georgina rolled her eyes in irritation. "She hasn't been seen since the day after Nate and Serena's wedding. Neither has Chuck."

Not entirely true, Carter knew. The skin around his eye was still purple from Chuck's fist.

"Perhaps they're still working on the divorce-"

"They never got a divorce," Carter cut in, incredulous. Was the man really that clueless? He should have known coming here would just be one big waste of time. The problem was, he had no idea where else to look.

"What?" Harold looked thoroughly confused. "But-"

"Oh good _God_," Georgie hissed. "Why are we even bothering? Don't worry, Mr. Waldorf. Go back to burying your head in the sand."

The man was shocked – Georgie had never been anything but polite and charming when he was around. "Is she ok?" he asked at last, eyes sliding between the two of them. "I- what can I do?"

"What you always do," Carter sighed. "Nothing."

There was contempt in Georgie's voice. "Best not to change a habit of a lifetime." They both swept out without a backwards glance.

But once they reached the elevator, Carter's eyes narrowed in loathing as he noticed Georgie reaching for the same button. "I think I'll take the stairs. I'd rather not share with a dog."

"My sentiments exactly. Nice shiner, by the way. Chuck must have enjoyed that one."

She smirked coldly as the doors closed.

* * *

><p>Carter's expensive loafers echoed on the stairs, and with each step he cursed that<em> bitch<em> in the elevator.

Where the hell could Blair possibly have gone? If not to anyone she knew, then surely to a hotel. But he'd put round word at all the big hotels already - if she turned up, he'd hear about it. She was clearly hiding, but she couldn't have left the city; not like this.

No one had seen her. Where could she possibly go in Manhattan where she wouldn't be seen? Out of his reach - out of Chuck's reach, especially?

He paused a moment, mid-step as an idea formed.

Where had Georgie gone when she didn't want to be seen? Where, in fact, was the last place _anyone_ would think of looking for Blair Waldorf?

* * *

><p>Blair tucked the thin blanket around her, as tight as it would go; but it wasn't doing anything. Her fingers were numb as she curled into a ball on the hard bed.<p>

_I love you. _

She could still see his black eyes in the darkness of his room - and the memory of his face as he'd come in from the balcony, as his eyes met hers - she'd retched into the rusty sink, but her stomach was empty. She wished her thoughts could be empty too.

She wanted her mind to be blank, and still she tortured herself wondering if his hands were clenched around a scotch glass right now.

She'd never realised she could be such a coward. She'd never realised how _easy _it would be for her to run and hide like a scared little dog. Blair Waldorf wasn't supposed to run away. She hadn't run away two years ago. She'd stayed - and maybe that had been her mistake. Maybe this was all just long overdue. She should have run. If she'd run then, at least she'd have had a head start.

* * *

><p>The sun was just beginning to rise, watery over a cold horizon. Spring was slowly on its way; but March was proving exceptionally cold this year. The fierce wind that whipped through Manhattan's grey streets now went unnoticed by most of its inhabitants, who were still tucked up in bed.<p>

The man behind the desk glanced up, bleary eyed, as the door of the deserted lobby swung open. The hotel didn't do roaring business at the best of times - who the hell was checking in this early?

Someone else who didn't look like he belonged here. Suit-wise, at least. Because his eyes were more shadowed than the most raging of the drunks that ended up on the hotel's door.

"I'm looking for a girl." He didn't smile. His voice was clipped, low in the pale light.

The clerk rubbed his eyes tiredly. "This ain't that kinda establishment. If you try just down the street-"

"A specific girl. She might have been staying here."

That did make the other man pause. He studied the figure before him carefully. He could only have been talking about one girl - he looked about as well-dressed as she'd been. "I don't want any trouble."

"Is she here or not?"

"She was," the clerk sighed. "She checked out about half an hour ago."

The man's jaw clenched. "Where was she going?"

He received a shrug. "No idea, sir." There was a drunken snore from one of drunks leaning against a table; the clerk glanced at him. "But between you and me, I hope it was a long way from here."

* * *

><p>Georgie leaned forwards to speak to her driver, eyes never leaving the figure ahead. She could make out the brim of his hat as he climbed into his own car.<p>

"Follow him. Don't let him out of your sight."

She'd seen Carter leave the Waldorfs far too purposefully and had been tailing him ever since. She was sure she knew exactly why he wanted to find Blair so much - and she was going to beat him to it. She was damned if Carter got in his version of events first.

* * *

><p>The same wind rushing the city now whistled over the New York airstrip. A small handful of passengers waited in the building while their documents were checked and their luggage loaded onto the tiny aircraft. Most were businessmen; and Blair, who hadn't been able to stop shivering even though she was out of the hotel now. She handed over her passport and filed out of the door last, bracing herself against the icy breeze. It felt even stronger on the wide stretch of runway.<p>

She'd never flown before; she felt a lump of nausea as she regarded the shining metal that would be lifting her hundreds of feet above the ground in just a few moments. It looked somehow impossibly small against the strength of the wind, and impossibly heavy at the same time – how would it possibly stay in the air?

Everything suddenly felt too strange and unfamiliar. She wanted to – what? Cry? She hadn't even taken off yet, and already the thought of leaving Manhattan behind was making her want to throw up. She didn't want to strap herself in that lump of metal with a group of strangers. She swallowed, hard, and tightened her grip on her bag. She was being ushered along by the ground stewards now, and the aeroplane was blurring in front of her. Her gaze moved blindly over the runway, panic fusing with dread and an unbearable loneliness -

And then she saw the figure standing aside from the aeroplane. There was a car, she realised, just off the runway – but the man in front of her was suddenly the only thing she could see.

The collar of his coat was turned up against the wind, his hat tipped down over his eyes. But he raised his head to look at her – and she'd know the slant of that cheekbone and that dark gaze anywhere.

Her voice stuck in her throat, lost in the wind.

"Chuck."

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Ok. I know I promised C/B interaction in this chapter...I'm sorry! I promise promise next chapter is pure CB. And will hopefully be up soon. Promise! **

**I just wanted to say thank you so, so much for some of the lovely feedback I got for the last chapter. Particularly to the lovely long review that I couldn't reply to as it was anonymous – you are most definitely not a terrible reviewer, thank you so much for taking the time to write it! You have no idea how happy it made me. Also foreverfaith319, your theory was pretty much spot on; I'm so glad it makes sense to you :) I was kind of worried everyone would hate this fic after what happened – it was one of my original premises for the story, so it was always going to come. I hope that this chapter and the next one will make it a little clearer for those of you who don't agree with the Blair/Carter thing – and thank you for sticking it out anyway! Seriously, you are all so amazing.**

**I also just wanted to clarify what I meant about Blair being 'pure'. For me, at least, being a virgin does not make a girl any more or less 'pure'. I've never thought of myself as remotely feminist, but that idea really, really gets to me. S1 Blair, IMO, never had a healthy relationship with sex – until Victrola, that is – because whether or not she was abstaining or throwing herself at Nate, it was all about control. Not enjoyment. I mean, it's not that simple because underneath all of that is the fact that Blair is essentially a romantic; but the way I saw it, her need for control was what was driving most of her thoughts about sex. All I meant by my comment in the last chapter was that this is not why I admire Blair's character as much as I do. For me, her 'purity' comes from how much she loves the people she loves; that's pure to me. Sorry for the rant, this is just something I feel really strongly about. (And I don't feel that strongly about many things lol.) I hope it makes sense!**


	26. Chapter 26

He'd crossed the space between them, and she was no longer aware of the other passengers boarding the aeroplane ahead of them. Now that he was closer she could see the dark rings under his eyes, his hair a mess under his hat and his skin white in the cold. He was close enough that she could almost smell cologne and smoke and scotch, and it made her ache.

"What are you doing here?"

His eyes were as sharp as ever, though, and they burned into hers. "I could ask you the same thing." His voice was low over the wind.

"Chuck-"

"I know." He looked at her silently. "About Carter."

She froze.

It was all over, then.

She hadn't been able to run away fast enough.

"I thought," she whispered, "If I went to France, then you'd never have to know."

Chuck stared at her. "And you thought I'd _prefer_ that?"

"Yes," she said, softly. Because she knew what finding out about that kind of betrayal felt like.

"You really thought I'd be happy never knowing the truth?" he growled; and she tried not to flinch at the sudden hardness in his voice. "That you could just disappear to France and that would make me _happy_?"

"Yes!" Her voice rose dangerously, high. "Better than feeling sick every time you thought about me, about Carter – better than feeling so sick that eventually when you look at me you feel _nothing_. Better than feeling," she whispered, almost a hiss, "Like everything you ever knew doesn't matter any more."

Because that was exactly how she'd felt after she'd found out about Nate and Serena. So much that she didn't understand now how she ever could have loved Nate at all. So much so that she'd stopped believing she was capable of love altogether. And that was exactly how she'd felt again, to a lesser extent, after she'd found out about Harold.

That was exactly how she'd ended up not just letting Carter use her but _enjoying _it, because it meant that nothing really did matter and at least _she _was the one making it that way. Slipping that far out of control had somehow given her back the control.

Chuck's gaze roved over her face in silence now. "I wish," he said, rough, "I could feel nothing when I look at you."

She swallowed. She realised the stewards were giving her pointed looks; she was the last passenger not to have boarded.

Chuck followed her gaze to the waiting plane.

"So, what? You're just going to run away?"

The scorn in his voice cut into her as she shook her head, lips tightening. "I can't stay here."

He watched her for a moment. "You've been pretending none of it happened for two years. You're telling me _this _is harder?" His gaze slanted. "I never took you for a coward, Blair."

Her eyes closed. She _was _a coward. She might have got older and meaner, but deep down she was still that scared pathetic little girl cowering from a thunderstorm.

"Then you don't know me," she said at last. "Do you?"

She picked up her bag and went to turn away.

"No." He'd suddenly grabbed her arm, spinning her round till she faced him and they were mere seconds apart. "I _do_ know you." He held her in place, fingers closed around her elbow. "Did it ever occur to you," he murmured, "That the only reason you feel nothing when you look at Nate and Harold now is because that's exactly what they are?" Her arms were slender in his grip, like if he shook her she might break; but he could feel the heat of her body underneath. "They're not the people you thought they were."

She'd thought they were perfect - he knew she had.

She stared up at him. "So," she managed at last, "You're not surprised when it comes to me? Betrayal is in my nature – you expected this?"

"I expect you," he growled back, still holding her, "Not to run away just because you did something you regret." His voice was still hard. "You're better than that, and you know it."

She was very quiet as she looked at him.

"Miss?" One of the stewards approached, clearing his throat. "I'm afraid we'll need you to board now. We're approaching take-off."

Chuck still didn't let go of her arms. "You're not a coward," he murmured, tight. His eyes never left hers. "Don't get on that plane."

She gazed up at him and the truth was, she did know why she'd gone to Gimlet that night. Even as she'd sat at Carter's side and let him fill up her glass over and over, she'd had one eye on the door. Her eighth birthday party all over again. She'd had the choice at the end of the night, and she'd told herself that this was exactly what she'd wanted as she'd climbed into Carter's car and let the destruction begin.

When all she'd really wanted was someone to stop her. To tell her it _did_ matter. To remind her that she was Blair Waldorf and that meant something.

Not _someone. _She'd wanted the same person who'd let her dig her nails into him in the thunderstorm, who'd gripped back without closing the curtains and telling her to ignore it.

She'd gone to Gimlet that night because she'd wanted Chuck.

Her voice carried across the wind as she looked up at him and her bag slipped out of her hand.

"Ok."

And then he was suddenly pulling her into him, and her arms had fastened, tight, around his neck as everything else lay forgotten on the tarmac.

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cold skin as his mouth moved over her hair. Her hands had fisted on his collar. And he felt her breathe it against his ear as her tears froze on her cheeks and her fingernails dug into the skin on the nape of his neck.

"Chuck." His hands moved over her waist, closing his eyes as he clung to her. "I love you too."

* * *

><p><strong>AN – I'm sorry this chapter is so short. I really did wrestle with making it longer, but the dialogue all became too unwieldy and really...this is all I wanted to happen. Next chapter will be longer, I promise! And have some more of Chuck's POV. Thank you so much for all your reviews :) I also didn't get a chance to thank a couple of the other anonymous ones for last chapter - so thank you very much!**


	27. Chapter 27

Carter was exhausted. He'd been trawling through seedy hotels for most of the night, and he was more than ready to give up. What had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time was looking less and less of one the further he got into Queens. She'd probably skipped town now, for all he knew.

He needed a drink.

Georgina rolled her eyes as she watched him slip into the concealed joint. It was still morning – only Carter would have connections to get alcohol at this hour. She found herself wishing she could do the same.

But she'd spotted another hotel that Carter had missed. She was also tired of the wild goose chase; this one, she decided, would be the last one. She might as well get in before Carter did. Just in case.

Carter was feeling much better by the time he emerged from the joint, two glasses of scotch down, and he noticed the hotel too. He was just coming up to the entrance when he spotted something, and his head snapped round.

A brunette was heading in the opposite direction. He could just see her dark curls and clearly expensive coat. It couldn't be anyone else, could it?

He went up to her and grabbed her arm before she could get away.

"Finally-"

The word became a snarl of disbelief.

Georgina yanked herself out his grip. "Too slow, Baizen."

"What the hell are you doing here?" he spat.

She just rolled her eyes. "The same as you. Obviously. You're out of luck – she's not in this one either."

But Carter had spotted a gleam in her expression. The bitch was lying. "Where is she?"

"Not here," Georgie snapped. "I told you."

But the man behind the desk had told her, with great wariness, that someone like Blair _had _been here. So Georgie was getting warmer.

"You're not going to find her," Carter hissed. "And even if you do, I told you she'll never believe-"

He stopped as he saw something behind Georgie. A car. A car that was glossy enough to stand out in this area anyway, even if he hadn't recognised it.

Chuck's car.

Georgie spun round too – and they both saw them. Chuck and Blair, in the car. They stared, mouths almost open, as the automobile drove away.

"What the hell?"

Georgie struggled to work it out. Chuck had found Blair. They were _together. _But Chuck couldn't possibly have forgiven her. Could he? Unless – unless Blair had got the chance to give him her version of events. She was a good liar. Maybe she'd told him it was all Carter. That thought gave Georgie a little sting of satisfaction as she looked at the man again. God, if Chuck thought his best friend had _raped _Blair -

"Maybe they're going to the police," she murmured.

She felt Carter stop next to her.

Shit. They couldn't be – could they? He remembered Chuck's expression as he'd punched him, that burning in his eyes. Hell, he'd sent Fabiano down for doing less. He remembered Blair's white face in her penthouse as she'd threatened him. Not a threat – a promise. She hadn't looked like she was messing around. Would Chuck believe him over her? No. He wouldn't. And if it went to court, Carter realised, he was done for. _No one_ would believe him over Blair Waldorf. Not little miss society princess. Jesus, they only had to get in a few of the girls he'd already had encounters with -

Georgina glanced at his suddenly grey face. But she had her own situation to worry out. Would Chuck have told Blair how he'd found out? If he had, then she needed to get to Blair fast. She could say she'd only told Chuck because she was worried about Blair. Because Carter had made some comments; been taunting her. Yes. Blair couldn't turn on Georgie if she helped back up whatever story Chuck was being spun.

It would be fine. She could salvage this. Carter was already heading for his car as she turned back to hers; but she wasn't about to end up like him. No way.

* * *

><p>They were both drained by the time they got back to Chuck's suite, overwhelmed by three nights of barely any sleep. Blair didn't even have the energy to scrub the Queens off her. She dropped her bag in the hall, eyeing the guest room. All she wanted to do was sleep.<p>

But they stood in the hall for a moment, and her hand still gripped the front of his coat. She couldn't seem to let go. He paused to peel the garment off, and she slipped out of her own coat and removed her heels. Her stockinged feet sank into the carpet as she glanced up at him. She looked exhausted in the low light.

Then he was steering her into his room and she climbed, gratefully, into the soft sheets of his huge bed. She didn't want to be anywhere else. He paused with one knee on the bed; so she reached for him, silently, and tugged him down till he was next to her. She curled into the dip in the mattress from his body, and she was no longer cold as she buried into the heat of his chest. She found the hollow of his throat to nestle her head in and his arms encircled her, the weight of one warm hand resting on her rib cage.

He lay very still, eyes closed, until he felt her breathing deepen. And then he fell asleep with her tucked against him.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean they can't be disturbed?" Georgina glared at the Empire concierge. "This is important."<p>

The guy just shrugged. "Sorry, ma'am."

"Look," she ground. "Just call through-"

"No calls allowed."

"Fine," she sniped at last. "When she does come out, tell Miss Waldorf that Georgina Sparks needs to talk to her."

The concierge looked a little confused. "Miss Waldorf?"

It took all of Georgie's restraint not to snap when she realised what he meant. "Mrs. Bass," she snarled at last. "Just pass the message on!"

And she stalked out, heels echoing furiously against the marble floor.

* * *

><p>The sun was setting by the time they woke up. And once Blair had bathed, it was dark outside. She emerged from the bathroom finally warm and finally clean in another fluffy robe. She didn't realise how attached she'd grown to the softness of the thick white fabric as it enswathed her.<p>

Chuck had already ordered room service.

They ate it this time in bed, Blair's bare feet tucked underneath her as her hair dried. She'd eaten nothing since the last time she'd been in this room, and his own diet of scotch hardly counted. They were both suddenly ravenous.

She was full by the time she'd reached dessert, and she settled on picking the berries out of the fruit salad as she watched him cut up his second helping of the chicken. His dark hair was soft and needed a trim, thick in the golden glow of the room. She could smell the expensive soap on his skin, the same as hers.

His eyes met hers; he raised a brow.

She smiled, slightly, as she slid another berry into her mouth. She felt suddenly nervous. Or maybe not nervous, but how else did she describe the fluttering in her stomach?

"There's something I don't understand," she said, more to distract herself than anything else. To distract him. He glanced at her. "How did you know where I was?"

He cocked his head. "I hate to break it to you," there was a faint smirk on his face as he watched her, "But you're pretty predictable."

She remembered telling him the same thing when she'd found him in Victrola; her mouth twitched, just a little.

"Predictable?" she repeated softly. She had a strawberry halfway to her mouth. But his eyes were molten in the light and that fluttering went crazy as she leaned across to him, lips seconds from his, close enough that she hardly dared brush. "Really?" Her voice stuck in her throat and she could feel that his own breathing was suddenly uneven. The scent of her damp hair nearly overwhelmed him.

He caught her jaw instead, fingers sliding over her cheek. "Really."

She kissed him then; and he kissed her back, tasting strawberries. He deepened the kiss as he pulled her into his lap, dinner forgotten.

"Maybe," she murmured as his back hit the mattress and she leaned over him, tucking her wet hair behind her ear as her lips found his again, "You just _think _I'm predictable-"

He stopped the movement of her hand as his own fingers threaded through the wet strands, burying in her hair as his grip slid over her waist. "Or maybe I know you too well." His tongue had found her collar bone and she stopped with a little whimper.

She felt him smirk into her skin.

So her hands slipped into his robe, fingers running over the expanse of his chest. She trailed a path down to his stomach, feeling the muscles clench under her touch. It was her turn to smirk as her hand crept over his hip bone and he groaned into her hair.

"Or maybe-"

They were interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone.

Both their glowers were instant. Chuck nearly swore in disappointment as he felt Blair's hand retract from his robe; he pulled her back, but the damn phone kept ringing. She sat up on top of him, gaze slanted. Her hands still rested on his chest for balance.

"I think you'd better get that."

"I don't," he muttered. He reached for her lips again.

The telephone didn't shut up. Chuck was cursing as he finally got to his feet. Blair shifted onto her side, reaching for another strawberry.

"Maybe if you hurry back..."

Oh, he was hurrying.

* * *

><p>When he came back a few moments later, it was clear that whatever they'd started wasn't about to be finished. There was an odd expression on his face as he regarded her.<p>

"What is it?" She sat up, dragging her robe closer around her.

"It's Harold," he murmured. "And Howard. They've been arrested." He slid down onto the bed next to her, voice low. "For embezzlement and fraud."

She closed her eyes. No. They wouldn't be finishing what they'd started tonight.

"I'll get dressed."

* * *

><p>Nate was already at the police station, hair tousled from the amount of times he'd run his hands through it. Serena was holding his other hand, eyes wide with anxiety.<p>

She jumped on Blair when she saw her.

"Oh my God, B." Her hug practically suffocated the smaller girl; Chuck ended up having to extract her before the blonde did serious damage.

Nate was still pacing. "Did you have any idea about this?" he asked Blair helplessly.

She and Chuck exchanged a glance.

"What's happening now?" Blair questioned instead, changing the subject. "Where are they?"

"They're being held here, but we're not allowed to see them. And I don't think we'll be able to make bail - it's been set for half a million dollars. Each." Nate stopped pacing to slump down into one of the chairs. "My mother's refusing to even come down."

It seemed Anne had finally had enough, then.

"Pity," Chuck murmured. "That van der Bilt money would have come in handy."

Nate went to glare at the other man; then the fight left him because he had to acknowldge that he was right. If Anne wanted nothing more to do with her husband, then William van der Bilt sure as hell wouldn't.

The problem, Chuck reflected, was that none of them had enough experience with police stations. Not even Serena - she rarely got into actual trouble, he knew, and he'd bet Lily or the stepfather of the month had always sorted out any problems before.

"Ok," he sighed. "I'll get in touch with my guy here. See what I can do."

Nate and Serena stared at him; first in shock, and then with sudden, shining hope. "You can help?" Nate made it sounde like Chuck was his personal saviour.

Chuck rolled his eyes at Blair, and she could tell he was a little uncomfortable with the way Nate was looking at him now. "I can try."

Nate was suddenly grabbing his hand, shaking it. His voice was sincere. "Thank you."

Chuck managed a shrug. He definitely wasn't used to such displays of gratitude. "I'm not promising anything-"

"Seriously," Serena smiled. "Thank you."

"Right." He cleared his throat, and he was infinitely grateful when Blair slipped her arm through his and steered him away from the blondes and their grateful faces. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Serena leaned her head on Nate's shoulder, and he was glad, again, to have her mane of golden hair under his nose. They were still waiting for Chuck to come back.<p>

"I know this isn't exactly how you wanted to spend the first week of married life," he said glumly. They'd been christening the penthouse yet again when they'd got the call. _And _Serena had worked out how to make pancakes.

Serena twined her fingers with his. "Honestly?" she smiled at him. "I just want to be with you."

He nudged her shoulder, but he managed a grin back.

He sighed as he settled his head back over hers. "I just wish people would tell me about these things," he murmured. "Dad never said anything. If I'd known he was in trouble-"

"Maybe he was trying to protect you," Serena comforted gently.

Nate looked at her, and his blue eyes were bright. "No. I don't need to be protected, Serena. Not if it puts the people I love at risk."

She knew he was talking about more than just his father; she shifted a little, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry."

His hand tangled in her blonde hair. "I'm just glad I found out when I did," he said softly. "I didn't realise - or, maybe I didn't want to realise - just how bad it was till Georgie told me. And now with my father-"

But Serena had paused, suddenly pulling away from him. "What?" She frowned. "Georgie?"

Nate glanced down at her. "She came to see me. Told me she was worried about you. Not that I believed that," he snorted. He'd never liked Georgie any more than she had. "I assumed she was just trying to stir up trouble."

Serena's brow was stil puckered. Did Blair know Georgie had done that? She was about to ask more when Blair herself returned with Chuck.

"Good news," he announced. (He kept Blair in front of him a little, though, in case they suddenly got _huggy_.) "You can go see your father now."

* * *

><p>Blair went to see Harold alone.<p>

Chuck personally didn't think the man deserved any of her time, but he managed to keep his disgust to himself.

Her father looked weary on the other side of the hole; but his eyes brightened a little as he took her in. "Blair bear! What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't get in touch with our lawyer." She was pretty sure their lawyer had dropped them altogether - he'd probably finally had enough of Harold too. "I just came to tell you that we can't afford bail." Her voice was stiff.

Harold sagged a little. "I thought as much." He looked at her again. "But...you came to see me."

"You're my father." It came out tight.

The man's eyes were brimming now. "I love you so much, sweetheart-"

"And I love you." She cut him off. "But that doesn't mean I like you all that much right now." She stared at him across the divide. "I can't believe you let this happen."

"I made a mistake," he sighed. "Howard and I both thought-"

"But you keep making the _same_ mistake. There's no magical fix to pay off that much money. You can't keep pretending there is."

"I know," Harold murmured at last. "I know." He raised his eyes to hers. "I'm still glad you came, though."

She just nodded. Swallowed.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

Chuck was waiting for her outside, leaning against the wall like she couldn't see the distaste etched into every inch of his face. But he didn't say anything. He caught her hand in his instead.

And as he pulled her to him in the car, he told Arthur to take them home.

* * *

><p>Georgina hadn't heard anything about Howard or Harold. She'd given up waiting for Blair in the end, vowing to speak to her in the morning. But when she'd returned to the Empire the next day, she'd been informed that Blair had gone back to her own penthouse.<p>

She'd hardly dared hope.

Had her and Chuck fallen out? Had she finally seen sense?

She entered the Waldorf penthouse now, lies at the ready. She'd have to gauge the state of mind Blair was in first. Get her story straight.

"Georgie."

She turned at the familiar voice, arranging her face into a relieved smile as she rushed up to her friend and hugged her.

"Blair! You're ok." She held the other girl at arm's length, quickly trying to work out what she needed to know from her face. "I was so worried about you." She glanced round as she noticed the bags at Blair's side. "Have you left him, B? Are you coming home?"

Blair's face was unreadable. "I actually just came to pick up the rest of my stuff."

It was the first time she'd been home in weeks - but it hardly mattered now, since the penthouse was on the verge of being repossessed.

Georgie tried not to let her disappointment show too much. "Oh." She stuck on a bright voice. "But where have you _been_? I left so many messages-"

"Chuck said."

The Empire's concierge had been so bombarded with messages that they'd ended up going to their boss.

Georgie paused. She watched Blair very carefully. She hadn't missed the cool edge to her voice. "Look, I don't know what he told you-"

Blair arched an eyebrow. "About what?"

That did make the other girl stop. Was Blair being serious? Then she thought of something. What if - what if the reason they hadn't broken up was because Chuck hadn't told her what he knew? Perhaps Chuck was trying to pretend it had never happened.

In which case...Georgie was safe. She didn't want to arouse Blair's supsicions now.

"Nothing," she smiled. "Look, I'm just glad you're back. You really worry me sometimes."

"No need to worry when I've got you to look out for me." Blair's tone was light, but she wasn't smiling. "Right?"

Georgina was aware that something was wrong. "Right," she agreed warily.

"I mean, just look at how well you sorted the Fabiano problem for me," Blair went on. She sounded flat. "You got to Frank so quickly. Almost like you knew him already." She tilted her head, quiet. "Had you seen him before, perhaps? To sell Chuck out?"

Her friend froze. But her voice was loaded with scorn as she looked back at Blair. "What are you talking about?"

"You never did pick up your peonies," Blair murmured. "I had to give them to you the next morning. So what were you doing, exactly, the night before my wedding?"

Georgie bristled. "I just forgot-"

Blair voice cut like ice. "You don't forget anything."

Georgina stared at her for a second; and then she shook herself. "Fine," she snapped. "I met Frank to get in touch with Fabiano. But I was only doing what you should have done. What you didn't have the _guts_ to do."

"And I suppose," Blair said tightly, "That I didn't have the guts to try and rat Serena out, either?" Her eyes had narrowed. Dangerous. "I know you went to Nate. And I know you went to Anne when that didn't work."

Georgie had gone very white now. "Serena," she hissed, "Doesn't deserve your protection. All I did was tell the truth. When are you going to realise that you're _better_ than her, Blair? If you didn't waste so much time defending her, in her big lumbering shadow-"

"She's my best friend."

"I'm a better friend than she's _ever_ been!"

Blair's lips pressed together. "I know that you told Chuck about Carter." It was very soft. "But I guess all you did there was tell the truth, right?"

Georgie stilled for a second. "Chuck's lying. Whatever he told you, he's lying."

"Chuck didn't tell me anything." She stared at her, and gave her head a little shake. "You just did."

And at that, Georgie lost it. "When are you going to get it?" she snarled. "All I've ever done is _protect _you. Chuck will never be able to love you. You're just deluding yourself. He's going to end up hurting you, and if you're too blind to even see that-"

"That's enough." Blair cut her off, hard. "Listen to me, Georgina. If you ever try to come between me and Chuck again, then you'll be sorry. Because I'll go to your parents."

Georgie blanched. That was the one thing they _never _talked about - the one thing that Blair had never held over her head before. She hadn't thought she ever would. "You wouldn't."

"If you try to hurt Chuck again," Blair's gaze burned, "I will."

Georgina stared at her for a moment. She was being serious, she realised. An ugly look crossed her face.

"Fine."

She turned and walked out. And she realised as she did so that she didn't think she had a reson to come back any more.

* * *

><p>It was the night of Victrola's re-opening.<p>

The booths were all filled, champagne flowing freely as lively saxaphone music sounded over the piano and people's excited chatter.

Two blonde heads descended on the dimly lit room, and the lights flickered over their beautiful faces and expensive clothes as they bickered good-naturedly.

"I _told_ you the secret phrase wasn't 'I love Blair'. They almost didn't let us in!"

"Well," Serena protested, "It should have been. What was all that confusing talk about duck-ponds?" The packed joint looked nothing like a duck-pond.

Nate had to agree.

And at that moment they spotted the hosts themselves.

Blair's glossy hair was curled to tight perfection, her shoulders bare in a cream beaded dress with black pearls and a dangerous smirk. Chuck's suit was black, his shirt deep crimson and his dark hair covered with his hat; his smirk, though, was equally apparent.

Serena sort of got a shiver just looking at them.

She and Nate were temporarily distracted by the offer of a drink; and when they looked back, Chuck and Blair had disappeared. Nate had a feeling he didn't want to know where they'd gone.

* * *

><p>In the back room of Victrola, the laughter and wild jazz music were slightly muted. It was darker too, the blinds pulled and the door shut.<p>

Blair grinned as Chuck lifted her onto his desk, hands sliding up her thighs as she reached for his shirt. Her fingers were nimble as they undid his buttons; he tugged her closer, shrugging off his jacket as his lips sought the bare skin of her neck.

"Finally," she groaned, biting his lip. "I thought Nate and Serena were going to start asking about the damn court case again."

And the less questions asked about that, the better.

"What?" Chuck smirked, though his breathing was rough as he caught her stockings, sucking that hot skin below her ear. "We just tell them we're letting the grown-ups handle it." He tugged one of her garters off, pushing her legs further apart; her fingers pressed into the back of his neck and she pushed his shirt off his shoulders completely.

It had been Blair's genius idea to weasel the money out of Bart and convince him to help Harold and Howard in their predicament. Bart had powerful connections. As Chuck had said - let them work it out between themselves.

Her nails ran against his back. He pulled her even closer, one hand sliding to the small of her back and up her bare spine, fingering the strap of her dress. He soon had the straps down her arms and the dress halfway down her body as he caught her bare breasts; she moaned as his mouth closed over her nipple.

Her hands were fisting in the tufts of his hair now, back arching on the desk as he slid his hand in between her legs. She was just reaching for the fastening of his trousers when there was a knock at the door.

"No, no, no," Chuck swore. No distractions. Not ths time.

"Ignore it," Blair pressed as she unzipped him and her fingers ran over his length; ignoring it then proved very easy to do. In fact, Blair's moans in his ear as he pulled aside her panties were pretty much drowning out the knocking anyway.

Which was exactly how Dan Humphrey caught them several seconds later. The room was dark, and it took him a second to work out what was going on. He could just see Chuck's hand gripping the paleness of Blair's thigh as her arms wrapped around his neck, face buried in his shoulder as he thrust into her and -

Oh, good God. He'd caught them mid-climax.

He couldn't stop the faint noise of horror as he reeled backwards. He just caught a flash of Blair's eyes, darkened with lust - then as they landed on him, and Chuck turned, still holding her -

Dan stumbled away as quickly as his legs could carry him.

He'd finally got a job at the New York Post because he'd resorted to telling them he'd used to work for Chuck and Blair Bass. (Even though using that kind of connection went against all his morals). Which was how he'd ended up at Victrola's opening night with the task of interviewing the couple.

But no amount of money or prestige was worth going back into that room and even thinking about what he'd witnessed in it ever again. He'd tell the Post tomorrow that they could send someone else.

In the back room, Blair hopped off the desk as Chuck tugged down her dress and she straightened his bow-tie.

"Do you think we've scarred Humphrey for life?" she mused. Her fingers brushed his jacket lapels, resting against his chest; he rolled his eyes and caught some of the deep red lipstick he'd smudged on the corner of her lip.

"Serves him right for barging in."

His fingers slid around the back of her neck as he suddenly tugged her closer, kissing the rest of her lipstick off instead.

She gave herself in to the kiss for a couple of seconds and then pressed against his shoulders; "I have to reapply that now."

He smirked down at her as his hands settled around her waist. "I meant to tell you," he murmured. "I have a surprise for you."

She raised her eyebrows. Her body was deliciously warm against his, nape of her neck still hot under her hair from their exertions a few moments ago. He kissed her again, since she hadn't put more lipstick on yet.

But she was more interested in the surprise now. Blair didn't like surprises. She liked knowing whether or not they were good so that she could react in the appropriate way. "What kind of surprise?"

"It involves beaches," he drawled, hand tracing her lower back, "And the sun. And just you," he kissed her neck, "And me."

She closed her eyes at the pleasure of his lips, then pulled back to stare up at him.

"A holiday?"

"Well, it's a little late...but I was thinking more a honeymoon." He gazed down at her. "What do you say?"

Her arms slid around his neck as she felt herself grinning. "Just us? No interuptions? No...Humphrey?" She toyed with his collar. "No awful fathers?"

He captured her lips once more.

"Just us."

* * *

><p>In a train headed for Chicago, one man sat slumped in the first class carriage. He leaned back against the plush velvet seats, glass in hand and hat tipped down over his eyes.<p>

He heard the carriage door slide open.

He lifted his head in irritation - he'd made it pretty clear he wanted to be left alone - and stopped as he saw who it was. Then his eyes rolled practically to the back of his head and he went back to his drink. God knew it was more appealing than the girl in front of him.

"Let me guess. Blair found out it was you and now you've got no one."

"Well, that's not entirely true now - is it?" Georgie took the seat next to him. "I've got a bottle of vodka." She pulled out her hip flask and filled up his glass before taking a gulp herself.

"You know," he muttered as he drank, "There's a whole train of other carriages."

"It's ok, Baizen. I don't want to talk." She pulled a face as she took another sip. "I just want to get really, really drunk."

And for once he had to admit that he shared that sentiment.

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><p><strong>AN - I'm afraid that this is the penultimate chapter :( There will be an epilogue next for Chuck and Blair's honeymoon...but we're nearing the end. I've really, really enjoyed writing this and I don't really want it to end - but this is the whole story arc I had planned! Thank you so, so much for all your amazing reviews. **

**Also, I added the little Humphrey moment after watching that Canadian promo I kept hearing about. All I can say is, I'm actually kind of relieved. I don't like the Blair on the show any more, so frankly Humphrey is welcome to her. And now that the writers have done a complete 180 on Chair as endgame, I'm not going to watch any more. But if there's still interest, I will carry on writing fanfic based on the characters from the show I used to know :) **


	28. Chapter 28

Storm clouds had gathered over a remote island on the Pacific sea. On the island's other side, however, the sun still streched over the pure white sand of a deserted beach, sparkling ocean azure and the only hint of a storm the faint rustle of palm trees.

Blair stretched indolently on her back, slender limbs just turning golden against the deep blue of her swimsuit. Chuck was sprawled at her side with a glass of iced tea that was mainly alcohol. No prohibition here. He watched, lazy, as she turned over. Her nose was wrinkled against the glare of the sun.

"It's too hot," she muttered.

His hand slid over the smooth sun-warmed skin of her bare back, slipping down her bathing suit as he caught a trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades.

"It's never too hot."

He felt her spine arch underneath his touch, toes curling in the sand for a second.

But then she'd rolled away with a little moan of frustration, dislodging his wandering fingers as she got to her feet. He gazed up at her, hands on her hips and sun glinting off her dark hair.

"It's too hot for that."

His only response was to smirk. "Didn't stop you yesterday. Or the day before. Or the day before that..."

She glared at him. He went to reach for that familiar slant of her little waist to pull her back down against his legs - but she'd already slipped out of grasp and was heading for the ocean. They hadn't been swimming in the sea since they'd got here.

He admired the high curve of her bottom in its swim suit, the tops of her slender legs still pale and her the sweep of her hair as it brushed her shoulders. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, eyes dark in the sun.

"Are you coming or not?"

He was already on his own feet and after her, cleanliness of the water be damned.

She paused at the edge. Her hand suddenly tightened round his as the cool spray caught her calves. And then she let out a muffled cry as he swept her off her feet, above the waves as he took the force of the first ones himself. Her arms tightened around his neck, yelping for him to put her down; the water was cold and her body hot against his bare torso, fingers tangling in his hair.

"Chuck!" she shrieked as they crashed deeper, and then her legs were sliding around his waist as she clung to him. He smirked again, spray gathering droplets in his black hair. His hands slipped under her swimsuit under the water.

"I'm going to kill you," she managed, breathless, as another wave knocked into them and his fingers cupped her sex; she grabbed his shoulders, tight, kissing him and tasting the salt of the sea.

He reflected, as her thighs tightened around him and her heat rubbed against the obvious strain in his trunks, that if she killed him right now he would die a happy man.

They were so busy kissing as his fingers slid inside her that it took a moment to even notice the first drops of rain. Even then, Chuck didn't particularly care.

But as something rumbled over the horizon, Blair suddenly glanced up and noticed the darkening of the sky. The sun had disappeared. Chuck grasped her legs, reaching for her lips again -

"Bass." She twisted in his hold, yanking on his hair to get his attention. "We need to get out of the water." She was already dragging on his hand as she turned for the shore; he growled in protest and tried to pull her back. "Do you want to be eletrocuted?" she demanded.

"No," he muttered drily, "I want to make you c-"

"Move it!"

She was pushing at his shoulders now as they both reached the beach. The rain had started to pound against their already wet skin, churning the sand deep gold. Thunder crashed again, closer, as they ran hand in hand. (Or rather Blair ran, and pulled him after her.)

He caught her when they reached the hut, trying to tug her round to him; she pushed back and they both fell in the sand, her breath catching as she landed on his damp chest. Sand clung to the wet darkness of his hair. His grip closed around her waist, the material of her swimsuit tight against her hips.

"Not too hot now, is it?"

His breath was heated in the humid air, both hearts thumping from their run. They could hear the palm trees shaking outside, the steady thump of the rain.

"Scared?" he murmured as he caught the drops on her eyelashes.

She gazed down at him, eyes golden in the shelter of the hut, and ran her fingers against the damp skin of his cheekbone. His hands tightened in reposnse. She murmured it into his mouth as she kissed him.

"Never."

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><p><strong>AN - I know it's a short epilogue...I'd like to think short but sweet? Heh. I have loved writing every word of this story; thank you so, so much to everyone who's continued to review. I'm really glad that you've all enjoyed it so much, and I'm sorry it has to end :( Thank you! **


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